Ghosts
by berelinde
Summary: Tension builds at the White Spire, an Orlesian Circle of Magi until flight is the only option. TW: numerous. This story involves mages in a Circle environment, so expect minors with a backstory that involves violence, violence against adults, and consensual sexual situations.
1. Chapter 1: Teacher

"'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,'" Galyan said. "The prophet Andraste said that as part of the Chant of Light. Who can tell me what it means?"

A small forest of hands shot up. He ignored them in favor of a more timidly raised finger near the back.

"Yes, Janelle?" he encouraged gently. The child was a recent initiate to the Circle, and the shyest pupil he had yet encountered. Her bruises had healed in the weeks since her "recruitment," but the abuse she had suffered between the discovery of her gift and her consignment to the White Spire still shadowed her every gesture. He was accustomed to students who would not meet his gaze - his position made him the natural enemy of the student populace - but the way she flinched at the sound of her name broke his heart. Perhaps her voluntary response to his question was a sign that the horror of her ordeal was starting to fade.

What she said next was incomprehensible. Only the words "wicked" and "curse" were intelligible. He sighed.

"It's true, Janelle," he explained, sitting cross-legged on the floor and beckoning the children closer. He rarely told the children they were wrong, exactly, but he sometimes had to twist things a bit before they were right. Outright correction was sometimes necessary, but a little word manipulation often revealed a glint of truth amid the misconception. These children had been through enough without adding public humiliation to the crimes done against them. "The mages of the Tevinter Imperium were wicked indeed. They used their magic to hurt weaker people and make them do what they wanted, and that's a sin against the Maker. It was their actions that made them evil, not their magic. The Maker wants us to use our gift to help other people, and to follow the rules of his Chantry. Now class, I want each of you to tell me one way magic can be used to help others."

Blank stares.

"Shall I go first?" he suggested. "Very well. If my neighbor's house caught fire, I could cast a cold spell to put it out."

The next half hour passed in good-natured chaos as each student put forth amusing - and alarming - ways in which magic could be used to "help" their fellows. The class was a little young for the exercise. Most were new to the Circle and knew next to nothing about their particular gifts, and many had been raised to fear magic and anyone who wielded it. That, in fact, was the reason he had chosen this lesson. They needed no one to tell them that magic was destructive. Most had been brought to the Circle because they had set something - usually a structure or another human being - on fire. They needed to learn that the powers they feared could be harnessed for good. Although he had to admit, finding ways in which people could benefit from some of their suggestions required considerable creativity.

Some of his colleagues did not approve of his methods. Jealousy may have played a part, initially. Not many mages enjoyed the notice of Divine Beatrice III, and even fewer received public accolades from her. His promotion to senior enchanter not five years after the Ten Year Gathering had not improved his popularity. Rivals snickered behind their hands when he passed and whispered that he waxed the templar knight-commander's staff nightly. Friends like Alte and, later, Elanie defended him, but most of those closest to him had been killed by blood mages during Avexis's abduction. His preoccupation with a Seeker he could no longer bear to name had isolated him to a shocking degree. Fortunately, the number of people willing to actively manufacture rumors was small, and the novelty-loving populace of the White Spire soon grew bored with hearing the same tired gossip. For his part, he tried to ignore the pettiness and carry on as before, even if he had less friends than he once did.

Professional anxiety did not help. The climate of the Circle was changing, but his superiors insisted that he teach blind obedience. Duty must be upheld, but the desire to do so should spring from moral responsibility, not fear of punishment. Meanwhile, he overheard his peers accusing him of preaching Chantry propaganda when they thought he was out of earshot. They may have been right. He attended services in the tower's chantry regularly and taught adherence to the Chant of Light, but he was finding it harder and harder to maintain a facade of piety. His loyalty to Andraste remained undiminished, but he could no longer excuse the abuses of the Chantry's mortal agents. He felt like a man under siege.

The Fifth Blight had reminded Thedas of the evil that magic had brought to the world. Some clerics seized the opportunity to drive the point home with sermons and missives about the avarice of mages, all the while tightening their already-firm control over the Circles. Templars had always been vigilant, but the crisis at Kinloch Hold in Ferelden inspired their leaders to authorize even the sternest containment measures. It was a directive some templars mistook for license.

Rumors of abuse had always circulated through the White Spire, but even the staunchest supporters of the Aequitarian fraternity could not explain away the bruises that appeared with increasing frequency on mages' faces. Galyan himself had once been struck for no reason he could determine. When he asked the First Enchanter about it, Edmonde had merely sighed and told him that the man had obviously been under a lot of pressure and must be forgiven. And disappearances were rising. Mages would vanish without explanation or comment. At first, no one thought twice about it. Every apprentice had to undergo their Harrowing, and they would be taken in the middle of the night with no advance notice. The next morning, they would be greeted as mages... or they would disappear. Some would appear later as emotionless Tranquil mages, but most who failed to return from their Harrowing were dead. In time, even their names were forgotten. Other times, mages would be transferred to another Circle, seldom to be heard from again. Many of his own former apprentices were now serving at other postings. His very first apprentice, Jules, had been sent as far as Starkhaven, but that was before the fire. Now, he had no idea if the man was alive or dead.

The people going missing now were different. Most were women past their Harrowing or girls not yet ready for it. Some were found dead in the dungeons below the tower, drained dry of blood and bearing a single laceration above their hearts. Galyan had been summoned to tend to one or two, but the dead were beyond his aid. The superstitious spoke of ghosts, but he knew that to be a lie. No spirit could return from the Fade. No, their killer was mortal, and the White Spire had no shortage of those who placed little value on the life of a mage. Not all who took up the Sword of Mercy were conscienceless beasts, but there were enough to make a few murders seem unremarkable to his jaded mind.

Other missing women eventually returned - many months later - but none would speak of their absence, if they spoke at all. Those who did make it back were changed women. They avoided former friends and woke the dormitories with their screams. The tower was afire with speculation about what had happened to them, but Galyan declined to participate. He feared that he already knew.

Templars were becoming less inhibited about their appetites. Circle mages were not required to be celibate, and the freedom to indulge in sexual liaisons was one of the few liberties they enjoyed. Many did so with gusto. They made no apologies about their promiscuity, nor did they necessarily shy away from taking templar lovers, if their affection or the incentive was strong enough. Sworn members of the Order vowed against fraternization, but they were only human. Love grew in the unlikeliest ground… and the practice of trading favors for favors was as old as humankind. Only lately, the templars were becoming more insistent. He had once been forced to excuse an older apprentice from a lesson for what was almost certainly an unnecessary interrogation. Her absence was short - only a few hours - but she would not speak to him upon her return. He reported the incident to the First Enchanter, but he was advised that unless the girl was willing to testify that she had been harmed, there was nothing the Circle could do. Nor could he blame her for her silence. No one would judge her, but that would not protect her from retaliation, should her witness damage her captor's reputation.

He hated to think that he lived in a culture of fear, where only the evil-doers were protected. He had spent the greater part of his life defending the Circle. He felt betrayed.

Fortunately, the pupils under his immediate care were still innocent of that horror, although many were recovering from other forms of trauma. Most needed time to adapt to their new home, and he did all he could to help them. The time he spent with them, nurturing their dreams and coaxing their self-confidence, renewed him as much as it soothed their fears. The shy smiles of his students were a balm for his soul, even as he worried for their future.

"Senior D'Marcall, the Knight-Commander will see you now," a harsh male voice interrupted the lesson.

"We have a quarter hour to go, ser," he said calmly. "Please tell the Knight-Commander that I will report immediately after class."

"Class dismissed," the templar barked. "No excuses."

Galyan sighed. Of all people, the templar should know the importance of consistency in education, but it would do him no good to point that out.

"Very well, Ser Templar," he said in his mildest tones, stifling the irritation that threatened to make him terse. His students would mistake his anxiety for displeasure with them. "In the meantime, class, you may go to courtyard early. Enchanter Elanie has a special lesson planned, so you may want to get front-row seats. No pushing, if you please!"

He watched his students scamper for the library exit then turned to face the templar again.

"We may as well get this over with," he said. The templar gestured silently toward the door.


	2. Chapter 2: Host

Galyan was startled alert by a knock at his chamber door.

"Come," he said blearily, not bothering to get up to greet his guest or to change out of his shabbiest, most threadbare robes. Only his friends would take the trouble to knock, and they would not be offended by informality.

"You were missed at dinner," his friend Alte said from the threshold.

"I find that improbable," he retorted sullenly.

"It's true all the same," Alte said, ushering Elanie, the third of their trio, into the room. She claimed the place beside Galyan on the bed, so Alte sat cross-legged at the foot of it instead. "We thought we'd bring the party to you."

A sly grin teased the edges of Alte's luxurious auburn mustache. As Galyan's best and most trusted friend, his visit was not a complete surprise, even if the circumstances made it unlikely. The Empress was honoring the Divine with a ball, albeit in absentia. Nobles had come from throughout the realm to celebrate her holy presence, and several of those had brought their court mages with them, all of whom were housed at the Circle during their stay. The dining hall would be vibrating with the thrill of new faces and potential conquests. Alte's handsome face and elegant deportment made him a keenly desired partner. His concern must have been genuine to drag him away from the novelty a feast day offered. With assemblies forbidden, they were permitted few enough opportunities for revelry.

"I brought the wine!" Elanie volunteered.

"Had I known, I would have stolen some cakes," Galyan said. "Or at least put on proper clothes. I apologize, Elanie."

"I only wish you were wearing less," she grinned. "It would be the least you could do, considering how you stuck me with your class for an extra half hour."

"It won't happen again," Galyan said grimly, sloshing wine in his cup and ignoring the cloth-wrapped wedge of cheese Alte offered. "Primary students will now be taught solely by the sisters, by order of the Knight-Commander."

"You're joking!" Elanie gasped, seizing Galyan's cup and drinking from it herself. "These kids are scared. They don't need some priest telling them how many ways they're damned."

"I wish I was," Galyan said, reclaiming his cup. "Knight-Commander Eron told me himself not six hours ago. They're worried about a Libertarian agenda."

"That's ridiculous!" Alte protested. "Those children are not ten summers old! How can they possibly suspect them of harboring fraternity loyalties?"

"Tell it to the knight-commander," Galyan grunted. "We can avoid mentioning the fraternities all we like around apprentices, but it makes no difference to him. We defy Chantry law every moment of our existence, apparently."

"How many times have we proven our loyalty?" Alte all but snapped.

"Never enough, to hear them talk," Galyan said, remembering all Alte had already risked in defending the Circle... and remembering the humility with which he declined recognition for it. Alte had his faults, Galyan knew, but neither pride nor envy were among them. Knight-Commander Eron thinks it's temporary, if you believe it."

"Which I don't," Elanie snapped around another mouthful of Galyan's wine... which she had brought, he reminded himself, lest he grow resentful. "When have they ever relinquished anything they have taken?"

"Not that it affects me much," Alte acknowledged. "I don't have any classes with the juniors."

That was true, Galyan admitted. Alte mentored few apprentices, and they were all older. Most senior enchanters concerned themselves with more advanced research and dealt with only the apprentices assigned directly to them. At present, Galyan was the only senior enchanter who taught junior apprentices at all, and his responsibilities were mostly administrative, organizing schedules, curriculum, and the allocation of teaching space rather than day-to-day instruction. His brief daily session with the newest initiates was the only real class he taught, and he preferred to think of it more as supervised play time. Their usual activities - story telling and ball games - bore little resemblance to formal lessons.

"Lucky you!" Elanie retorted. "I'd give my right tit not to have to wipe their runny noses or clean up their puke when they get scared by the templars."

"How did you find out?" Alte changed the subject. "Nobody said anything at dinner."

"They're keeping it quiet for now," Galyan said. "I was ordered to inform the affected teachers privately."

"I see you're right on top of that," Elanie observed wryly. "Were you planning on telling me before or after I showed up for my morning lesson?"

"I was planning on making the announcement tomorrow in Chapter," Galyan said. "I was ordered to extract an oath of secrecy, but I will not."

"An oath of secrecy?" Elanie laughed. " Here? Secrets never last long in this place."

"I know," Galyan said. "That's one of the reasons I refused. Maker knows, I've supported the templars despite my conscience often enough, but the day we start deceiving our own people... I decided it was better for me to avoid the commons until the need for secrecy is past. I could tell the whole school tomorrow without repercussion."

"What's so special about tomorrow?" Elanie asked.

"The Divine's ball will be over tomorrow," Galyan said, "and the nobles will go home, taking their court mages with them. The Knight-Commander knows that the Chantry assuming more direct control over the apprentices will increase tension within the Circle. He fears some of our more excitable members may cause a scene, and he would prefer that outsiders did not witness it. I can see his point."

"They're going to find out sooner or later," Alte said.

"He knows that," Galyan said. "He feels that second-hand rumors are less damning than first-person reports. He is trying to distance the White Spire from Kirkwall in the eyes of public opinion."

"And lying... withholding the truth... will accomplish that?" Alte said with a raised eyebrow.

"In a way," Galyan sighed, draining his cup and holding it out to Elanie for a refill. "He wants people to see the White Spire as a unified entity, templars and mages working together toward a common goal. He thinks that keeping the bickering behind closed doors is enough."

"I wish it was only bickering," Alte said sadly. "Doesn't he realize how difficult it is to keep the Libertarians from causing trouble?"

"If he doesn't, he's delusional," Elanie said. "What does the First Enchanter think about all this?"

"He's taking it as well as can be expected," Galyan said. "He resents Chantry involvement in our curriculum, but he is willing to sacrifice a lot to keep the peace. With the College disbanded, our bargaining power is limited. We're on our own."

The College of Enchanters, an international forum for debate and discussion of issues that affected the Circles, had convened in Cumberland a few months before. Secession from the Chantry was the matter under consideration. Wynne, the outspoken leader of the Aequitarians, cast the deciding vote to remain under the Chantry's aegis. As one of the companions who helped the Hero of Ferelden defeat the Fifth Blight, her opinion held much weight. Her move created more conflict than it eased, however. As soon as the Chantry was informed of the College's decision, they suspended the College. It was supposed to be a temporary measure, lasting only until the templars got the dissenting mages under control, but few people were naive enough to believe it. The Circles were now cut off, isolated from each other geographically, symbolically, and in any other way that mattered. As Circle mages were now forbidden to venture outside their individual enclaves, they could not even communicate with each other. They could send written messages by courier, but they had to know that the letters would be read on both ends prior to delivery. The only glimpse the Circle inmates got of the outside world came from the court mages scattered throughout Thedas. These men and women had performed some great service for the Chantry and had therefore earned its trust. They were attached to noble households - or to the chantries sponsored by noble households, more specifically - and if carefully guarded, they were permitted some liberty to travel when their masters willed it. Galyan himself had been offered the privilege years ago, but he declined. Court mages, like formari, the tradesmen and women of the Circle, existed to serve the needs of their sponsors in cities which did not have a resident Circle. They lived by the sufferance of both secular and ecclesiastical masters and were often chained like mabari when not in use. Their "parole" ended when their masters brought them to Val Royeaux, and they were quartered at the White Spire like any other mage. The ones Galyan had met seemed glad to return to the Circle. They delighted in speaking with their own kind and enjoyed the freedom of walking the corridors without shackles. When Galyan refused the offered appointment, he knew nothing of the living conditions they endured. He knew only that he did not want to leave his research, his apprentices, or his friends. Every court mage he had encountered since convinced him that he had done the right thing. Away from the Circle, they were outcasts in a hostile land. Reunited with it, they were a welcome distraction, but were generally treated as houseguests. As a whole, mages were stronger united than they were divided, and the dissolution of the College of Enchanters brought them one step closer to annihilation.

"We're starting to sound like Libertarians," Alte said. The conversation had moved on while Galyan was ruminating on the state of the Circle, but his friend's observation touched a nerve that had been twinging for some time.

"We aren't asking for independence," Elanie said. "We just want them to stop treating us like property."

"It's hard to argue with that," Alte said. "It wasn't always like this. I used to have friends who were templars. Galyan used to be -"

"Things were different then," he interrupted.

"If they've changed, you can thank that moron up in Kirkwall for it," Elanie snapped.

"At the risk of branding myself a radical, I suggest that we avoid passing judgment on that one," Galyan said carefully. "None of us know what really happened."

He held up his hand to delay protest.

"I don't condone his actions!" he said. "I can't even explain them. But I do know that the Free Marches are nothing like Orlais. My parents went to great trouble and considerable expense to keep me out of the Kirkwall Circle. Even then, it had a grim reputation."

"I always thought you were from Jader!" Alte said. The city lay close to the Fereldan border, and the accents of many of its inhabitants would have been quite unremarkable in Denerim.

"Not quite," Galyan smiled. As well as he and Alte knew each other, they had never discussed their lives before joining the Circle. Most mages were discovered too young to remember, but even if they were older as Galyan had been, the subject was usually too painful to broach in casual conversation. It was not as if they could ever go home. "I was thirteen when they brought me here, so I remember a bit about Kirkwall. Not much. It has been a long time, and I lived in a protected world. My family was rather well off - minor nobility - so I never had to struggle to get by or do any of the things that make a person's childhood memorable. My family was devout, so the idea of making me an apostate was unconscionable. I didn't mind. My brothers and sisters had all been fostered elsewhere, so it seemed entirely appropriate that I should leave my family at some point. I would have been fostered out myself long before, were I not the youngest. They didn't disown me. They loved me just as much as before my magic manifested itself, but they knew what had to be done. Anyway, joining a Circle was a given, but my mother forbade them to take me anywhere in the Free Marches, and was willing to put a lot of coin behind her preferences. She had heard good things about Kinloch Hold - the Circle at Lake Calenhad - and wanted to send me to Ferelden, but she feared that my Orlesian name might make me an object of ridicule. So I came here. My point is that a quarter of a century ago, my not-even-remotely-magical parents had heard enough evil about the Kirkwall Circle to make anywhere else preferable. People do mad things when they're desperate."

"But the Chantry!" Elanie protested. "Why didn't he blow up the Templar Hall if he hated them that much?"

"I don't know," Galyan said. "Nobody does."

"And nobody will ever find out," Alte said. "The Seekers make sure of that."

"The Seekers can't be involved," Galyan said firmly. Too firmly. Elanie's head turned to stare at him.

"The Seekers protect the Chantry," Alte said with an apologetic glance at his friend.

"What was that look for?" Elanie asked. Alte turned to Galyan again, his expression clearly asking "What now?"

"It's all right, Alte," he answered the unspoken question. "It's general knowledge. I knew a Seeker once, not long after Avexis joined the Circle. We lost touch."

"Oh, right," she said, oblivious to the momentary awkwardness. "Before we met, in other words."

"Anyway," Alte resumed his explanation, "the Seekers protect the Chantry's reputation as well as its members. If I were a Seeker and if Kirkwall was as bad as Galyan suggests, I would do everything in my power to keep people from finding out more than the basic facts. As it stands now, the man responsible for the massacre is reviled by templars and mages alike. Isolated as we are, we don't really know what life is like in other Circles. We view the act out of context, and see it as an unprovoked attack, and we look with tolerance on Chantry countermeasures."

"The Libertarians don't," Elanie said tersely, her dark eyes flashing.

"The Libertarians have been looking for an excuse to cause trouble since before you were Harrowed," Alte said. "You must have heard about the mess they made of the Fereldan Circle."

"That was the work of an abomination," Galyan said. "I don't think you can hold the entire fraternity responsible for it."

"I don't," Alte said. "Not really. I do think that they are naive for believing that freedom from the Chantry would make their lives better, but most are idealists, not firebrands."

"Senior Adrian is," Elanie said. "Definitely."

"Maybe," Alte said, "but she follows Rhys's lead. He's level-headed, for a Libertarian."

"Why do we always wind up talking about politics?" Galyan asked, rubbing his temples. "It gives me a headache."

"A pity you've got no one to take care of that for you," Alte said slyly.

"This again," Galyan sighed. "I'm not much in demand these days, in case you failed to notice."

"I know one sweet lovely who is only too eager for a suitor tonight," Alte answered. "Rubbing my thigh all through dinner, as a matter of fact."

"You can't be talking about me!" Elanie laughed.

"Why not?" Alte replied. "You're randy, and Galyan's available -"

"And not at all the man I was interested in!" Elanie retorted. "No offense, but my tastes are rather specific."

"It isn't going to happen, my dear," Alte said. "Liranis will not be here long, and I owe her one night of liberty before she returns to Jader."

"So, your old flame is back in town and I'm relegated to Galyan?" Elanie sneered.

"There's inspiration for you!" Galyan harumphed. "What makes you think I need your charity?"

"You don't," Alte said. "Once Elanie discovers how gifted you are, she won't want anything to do with me anymore, but I have debts that predate either of you. I only regret that I won't be able to join you. I wish I could, believe me."

"Which you could have done at any point before now," Elanie said. "If he's as good as all that, I'd have thought you'd be eager."

"I'm sitting right here!" Galyan interrupted. "And I never said I wanted company."

"Tell me you never thought about it," Alte said. "Look, I realize how awkward this is. I shouldn't have sprung this on either of you like this. I should have introduced Liranis to you earlier, Elanie, or pleaded indisposition and avoided the problem entirely, but I didn't. I thought you deserved more honesty than that."

"And pimping me out to Galyan is less degrading?" Elanie asked. "We've never been exclusive in our affections, so I can't accuse you of infidelity, but I prefer to find my own diversions."

"As do I," Galyan said.

"Fine, forget I said anything," Alte said, shaking his head. "I've clearly made a mess of everything, so if you'll excuse me, I could use a bath before my company arrives."

Alte got up and left, but Elanie was slow to follow him.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes: Galyan's name is unmistakably Orlesian, but his accent is not. This leads me to believe that he hailed from a region with a large ethnically Orlesian population, e.g. the Free Marches. The fact that he has a surname suggests that it was significant. The only human mages we've met who have them are the children of noble houses. Regarding the events of the Battle of Kirkwall, Galyan, Alte, and Elanie know only what they have been told. The veracity of that information is dubious.<em>


	3. Chapter 3: Surrogate

_AN: NSFW warnings apply!_

* * *

><p>"Well, that certainly was awkward," Galyan said after the door closed.<p>

"Intensely," Elanie agreed. "I hope you aren't offended."

"No, of course not," he said hastily. "In the years we've been friends, we've all heard plenty of uncomfortable details. And everyone knows how close you and Alte have become recently."

"Except Alte, it seems," she said with some rancor.

"You can't blame him for wanting to spend one night with an old friend. Or are the rumors about you and Arnaud untrue? Or Gustav? Or Nadine?"

"That isn't the point," she said impatiently. "Alte knows I have a healthy appetite. He doesn't mind when I recruit outside help to satisfy it."

"In other words, it's different because it's you."

"That isn't it at all!" she protested. "It's just that his... energy... has been falling off lately, and I worry... Well, if he's got enough timber to fire up the furnace, I'd rather he used it to heat my chamber."

"It's just one night," he said. "It doesn't mean that he no longer cares about you. Besides, I've met Liranis."

"Oh?" Elanie all but pounced upon him. "What's she like?"

"There's no comparison," he said truthfully. "It's been a while, but I could describe her, if you like. It may make you feel better."

"Please do!"

"She's pretty enough, I suppose, but she's too aware of her fine bones for beauty. She uses it as a glamour to hide what she is. She is intelligent, but her wit is cold, and it takes a great deal of alcohol to ignore her condescension."

"Is she any good in bed? Or didn't you know her that well?"

"Answering that question would be ungallant," he said.

"And your description was a model of courtesy?"

"Answering your question implies judgment, one way or the other. She has always been selective. I'll give her that."

"She can't be too selective if she crawled into your bed," Elanie said carelessly. "You've slept with half the women of the White Spire and a quarter of the men."

"And that's why I was reluctant to answer your question," Galyan ignored the insult.

"So, in other words, you know but won't tell me."

"Yes."

"So, what?" she prodded. "She's cold and unresponsive? Prudish? Repulsive in some other way? Or is she good enough that telling me would make me insecure?"

"You could hardly be more defensive than you are already, don't you think?" he said with a half-smile.

"You're infuriating!"

She leaned in and punched his ribs, but with neither force nor anger. He put his arms around her and eased her to lie against his chest.

"Think, Elanie," he whispered. "The White Spire has no shortage of strapping, indecently handsome men. You could have anyone you desire, but you choose balding, middle-aged Alte. Why?"

"And this is the part where you try to make me feel better by telling me that he loves me too?" she sniffed. "What if he loves this Liranis better?"

"I want to be there when you meet her," he said, squeezing her harder and resting his cheek on her hair. "You are going to remember this conversation and laugh yourself sick."

They sat in silence for several moments. He still held her, if only because he was too lazy to let her go. She stiffened at the sound of the door of the next room closing - Alte's room. Muffled, indistinct conversation filtered through the wall.

"I almost picked you instead of Alte," she said suddenly. "That first time I sat at the Enchanter's Table and saw the pair of you playing that game with the thimbles full of wine. You were very handsome then. Not that you aren't now, but..."

"But you've developed feelings for Alte and that changes your perception?" he suggested.

"More or less. I wonder what would have happened if I'd chosen you instead."

"Why didn't you?" he asked.

"I'd heard the rumors," she said, toying with the fastenings of his robe. "Not the ones about you sleeping with the Knight-Commander. I heard them, too, but nobody put any faith in them. It was the ones about you bedding everyone else in the tower that put me off."

"It was more or less the truth," he said, gasping slightly at the contact of her fingertip against bare skin. She had opened the front of his robe and was teasing the hairs of his chest.

"That's what Alte said," she said. "He said that you'd suffered a terrible loss and had gone a bit wild with grief."

"That does shine a romantic light on things, doesn't it?" he said. His voice was thicker now, choked by the desire her caresses were awakening. "Elanie, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Why not?" she laughed. "Alte placed me in your tender care for the night. I might as well make some use of what was offered. You don't find me repellent, do you?"

"You can see for yourself that I don't," he said, turning her face away from the swelling below his belt and making her look at his face. "But we're friends, Elanie, and I don't want to lose that."

"Are you afraid that we're using each other?"

"I know we're using each other," he said. "I see nothing wrong with scratching an itch using somebody else's nails, as long as both parties are respectful and honest about it."

"Then shut up and show me those gifts Alte mentioned," she said, growling into his beard and pulling his mouth toward hers.

He gasped at the feel of her lips against his, the first kiss he had shared in years. Her hands were everywhere, stroking him, coaxing him to greater and greater excitement. He needed little encouragement, but she provided it abundance, panting and moaning at the lightest touch. She tore at his clothing, stripping him roughly and tossing robes and small clothes away from him with force. He proceeded more cautiously, easing her gown from her body and laying kisses along the path of his hands. She responded with ear-splitting enthusiasm, screaming in voluble ecstasy as his lips grazed her thigh.

He withdrew, then rose to sit on the edge of the bed, his naked legs dangling against the bed rails.

"I can't do this," he said.

"Just give it a moment," she said, running her hands along his back. "You have quite a majestic banner, if we can get the pole to stay up."

"This isn't you," he said, turning so he could examine her face. "I've heard you and Alte make love a hundred times, and you're never this loud. Stop faking it."

"You inspire me," she said, reaching around in an attempt to fondle him back to life. He took her hands in his and drew them toward his knees.

"I wish I did," he said. "You're trying to get a reaction, but not from me. Since you can't make love to Alte through the wall, I can only assume you're trying to make him jealous. You are using me."

"I thought you didn't have a problem with that."

"Use me for sex all you like," he said. "Ride me until I collapse and kick my worthless corpse into the middens, for all I care. I won't let you use me as a weapon against my friend."

"I'm sorry, Galyan," she sighed. "I know this isn't what you wanted. Are you going to leave?"

"This is my room," he said. "And I have no idea where you threw my clothes."

"Something may have gone out the window," she said sheepishly.

"The window?" he laughed in spite of himself. "I can't wait to explain that one to the groundskeeper."

He lay beside her on the bed again and embraced her cautiously. The gesture was partially a practical one. Autumn was well underway, the narrow window was unglazed, and his room was unheated. Without warm clothing or activity, his room was chilly. She linked her arms around his waist and kissed him lightly.

"That ship sailed," he whispered, though his pulse quickened at her tenderness.

"Where did it go?" she asked playfully, kissing him again and sliding her hands down to stroke his buttocks. Her touch was lighter than it had been, more fondling and less pawing.

"Here," he groaned, shivering against the cold and drawing her body closer. He responded sluggishly, fighting the desire to send her away as fiercely as he wrestled with the yearning to part her voluptuous thighs and take her despite his conscience. He knew he was making a terrible mistake. He was not the man she loved, but now that her lust was awakened and she was truly engaged in their embrace, he found her attractions impossible to resist. She was not the woman his soul craved, but his body cared nothing for the desires of his heart. The woman he saw in his dreams was lost to him, but a beautiful, vibrant woman now lay in his arms, exciting senses he had forgotten he possessed.

For several moments, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing. Protests rose in his throat, but he swallowed them, applying himself to rousing her instead. He had touched no flesh but his own for years. He ached for the closeness, for the thrill of feeling her quiver against him. The husky purr in her moans was softer now, but it ignited a trail of fire from brain to loins. The salt taste of her intoxicated him even as her musk enchanted him. Her body was lush... soft... yielding. It had been too long.

He fought now to retain control, to prolong the moment between arousal and surrender. She rolled him onto his back. Memories awakened that distracted him more thoroughly than the pendulous sway of her breasts.

"Don't you dare!" she hissed, sensing his waning attention, but that was enough to bring him back to the moment. He pulled her lips to his once more, and gave himself over to her pleasure. She did not cry out when she found it, but he knew, and was almost ready to meet her. He could not breathe. Lava coursed through his veins and every heartbeat felt as if it might be his last. He was powerless to stop what was happening to him... but fate was not.

"You don't want to do that!" Alte's urgent voice cut through Galyan's consciousness even as emotion seized him.

The latch rattled and the door crashed open, splintering the washstand behind it and sending shards of broken crockery plinking across the floor. An armored female stood framed in the threshold, the expression of her once-familiar features, stone.

"Cassandra!" Galyan gasped as Elanie shrieked in alarm. She broke free of his grasp and leapt off him, scrambling to cover herself and leaving him to twitch wretchedly with the aftermath of his paralysis. He seized Elanie's blanket in panic, but it was too late. By several years.

"You are needed," she said tersely. "Get up."

"Er... yes," he stammered. "Let me just get dressed..."

"Now."

Dazed, he obeyed. Emotions overwhelmed him, humiliation first among them. He prayed the she would step into the corridor to allow him to dress and collect his wits, but she remained motionless where she stood, glaring. He withered under her gaze, literally and figuratively, but he forced himself to slink from his bed and look for his small clothes. Either mortification blinded him or Elanie had thrown everything out the window, because the floor was bare of everything except broken pottery. Alte tossed him a robe, which he donned gratefully. He let out an involuntary yelp as a sliver of clay cut into his sole, but thrust his feet into a pair of sandals anyway.

"I'm sorry," he said to Elanie. She cringed against the wall, clutching the reclaimed blankets under her chin and quaking in fear.

"Let's go," Cassandra ordered. It was not a request.


	4. Chapter 4: Healer

"It wasn't what it looked like," Galyan ventured once they were out of the tower.

He had no idea why he said that. It was exactly what it looked like, and the shame he felt about it was completely irrational. As a senior enchanter in good standing, he was entitled to consort with another enchanter in any way that did not directly violate Chantry law. As a human being, he had every right to seek comfort where he could find it. As a Seeker, she was not required to care. The symbol on her breastplate bestowed the right to observe any subject of the Chantry - mage or templar - at any time and under any circumstances, and he must endure it.

"Shut up," she said.

"I'm... sorry you had to witness that," he tried again. "I hope..."

He burned with the need to talk to her, but her coldness froze the words before his lips could form them.

"There has been an incident, senior enchanter," she said, no hint of emotion in her voice. "The Divine has been attacked in the Empress's palace and there are injuries -"

"By the Maker!" Galyan gasped. "The Divine?"

"Unharmed, praise Andraste, but her bodyguard is gravely wounded. That is why your services are required."

"Of course," he said, though no permission had been asked. He fell into his Healer's demeanor with gratitude. The discovery that she wanted nothing from him but his healing talents was hurtful to his ego, but it was a familiar pain.

Basic healing was common enough. Closing a simple wound or mending a cleanly broken bone required only that the mage align the damaged tissue as closely as he could to its natural state and apply mana to speed a process that the body would accomplish on its own. Any mage who had made even a rudimentary study of the Creation School could manage it. But bringing back a soul that had already begun its journey through the Fade on its way to death called for more esoteric skills. Unaided, a mortal mage lacked the power to access the Fade at will, even if he possessed the ability to heal the injuries. Spirit healers summoned Spirits of Compassion to augment their powers. It was a rare gift, one very few Circle mages possessed. The ability to actively communicate with the spirits they summoned was rarer still. Galyan personally knew only one man who could do it, a fellow spirit healer named Rhys. He was said to be able to converse with any spirit at all, not just those who helped with the healing, but Galyan had never been party to a demonstration. They were both senior enchanters, but they belonged to rival fraternities, and their relationship was tepid.

"Do not allow her to die," Cassandra said with the finality of his own death sentence. He swallowed hard.

She led him through the palace to a balcony where a young woman lay senseless on the tiled floor. Her helmet had been removed and Galyan needed no magic to sense the burns covering her face and hands, nor the blood clotting in her thick, dark hair. He knelt beside her. Bystanders drew back as if he were on fire, but he paid them no heed. He extended probing tendrils of magic into the wound, seeking the injuries his eyes could not see. Cassandra had not overstated the gravity of the woman's condition. Without speedy intervention, she would die. There was no time to ask for privacy. He disliked casting spells in front of outsiders, more so in cases that demanded a summoning, but he had no choice. No lingering affection on Cassandra's part would protect him if he failed to save his patient. He sent his thoughts into the Fade. He did not have to go far.

His first contact with the spirit was like greeting an old friend. It was not unusual for individual healers to summon the same spirit repeatedly. It was as if they anticipated the call. A particularly potent one always seemed to hover near his consciousness, waiting for him to entreat its aid. Galyan worried that he was taxing the spirit, but he sensed pleasure at the contact, as if the Fade creature was genuinely happy to help. That was its nature, he knew - it was not called Compassion for nothing - but he was grateful all the same. His task was exhausting enough without having to persuade a spirit to help him when he did not speak the language.

He felt himself fall as the channel closed. Darkness clouded his vision. He feared that he had ventured too far into the Fade and might not have the strength to return, but his sight began to clear almost immediately. He found that he was holding his breath.

"Will she live?" a lilting female voice asked. Galyan nodded, but lying on the floor as he was, he probably looked as if he were having a seizure.

"Yes," he said weakly.

"Will you?"

"I'm only... winded."

"Carry him back to the tower," Cassandra said to people Galyan could not see.

"That won't be necessary," he said, struggling to his hands and knees. "I can walk myself, once I've caught my breath. Let me check on my patient."

He pushed himself into a mostly vertical position and bent over the stricken woman. Her breathing was quickening and her eyelids fluttered when he brushed her lashes. She would regain consciousness any moment, which meant that it was time for him to go. He allowed a guard and the woman he did not recognize to help him to his feet. She was dressed in a chantry robe, but her flaming orange hair was arranged in a style no priest had ever worn.

"Ser Montverde, please escort Senior D'Marcall to his quarters," Cassandra said.

"So you recognize me now, do you?" he said, relearning how to smile. "We should talk."

"That will be all... mage."

He thought he detected a hesitation before the epithet. Was she trying to tell him something? Something beyond the insult of being addressed below his rank and denied the use of a name she knew perfectly well? That was what she called him before he had earned her trust. It sounded as icy as everything else she had said to him, but what if she were deliberately goading his memory? Was her indifference feigned? His head hurt too much to think.


	5. Chapter 5: Confidant

Alte was waiting for him in his room, but Elanie was gone. It was a mercy. He owed her an explanation, but his head was too full of Cassandra to allow the sensitivity that would require .

"You look terrible," Alte said, handing him a cup, which he drained and held out for more.

"I wish I felt that good," he said after a lengthy pause. "I am unforgivably out of practice. I keeled over like an apprentice."

"What happened?"

Galyan told Alte what he could.

"Thank the Maker the Divine wasn't hurt," Alte said. "Do you know who attacked her?"

"No idea. I don't even know who I healed. I've seen her in the tower before. I think she's a templar. Knight-Lieutenant by the armor."

"And she was badly injured, you say?"

"She sustained a potentially mortal blow to the head and extensive burns to the face and hands. I was able to save her, but it was a close call."

"Head trauma and burns? Not magic, I hope!"

"I've never seen anyone burned by an assassin's knife," Galyan said.

"So, magic," Alte said. "Just what we need."

"Alte... I appreciate everything you did here. Tidying up and... trying to stop her..."

"You're still in love with her." It was not a question.

"I don't know," Galyan sighed. "I was confused. I blamed her."

"Who else would you blame?"Alte chuckled. "She did walk in at the worst possible time. Maker's Breath, I think you've grown since the last time I saw you naked."

"Only in folly," he said. "But I don't mean last night. Before. Thirteen years ago. But to see her tonight..."

"I understand," Alte said.

"Not this time, my friend," Galyan sighed. "I don't even understand it myself."

"Oh, I don't know if it's that incomprehensible," Alte smiled. "If the only person I ever loved walked in while my sword was in someone else's scabbard, my composure would suffer, too."

"Not yours. You're never rattled."

"I didn't say it would suffer much. But you feel things more than I do. And neither of us is as emotional as Elanie."

"Did you explain the situation to her?" Galyan asked hopefully. "I'm dreading what she'll say."

"Sorry, my friend, but that's one dance I must leave for you," Alte said firmly. "You have my sympathies, such as they are, but after tonight's performance, she is not going to be mollified by a quick explanation from me."

"What is that supposed to mean! If you didn't want me to have sex with her, you shouldn't have thrown her into my bed! Alright, the moaning and carrying on was excessive, but I did put a stop to it."

"Oh, I knew you'd wind up in bed together, and while I'm disappointed in her theatrics, I can't say I'm surprised by them. She'll probably do the same thing next time she's in my room as a way to exact vengeance upon you for stealing her blanket in front of a Seeker."

"So that's what she's upset about?" Galyan asked incredulously. "After leaving me in the position I was in? You are joking, aren't you?"

"Immaterial, I'm afraid. You've got a lot of groveling to do to get back in her good graces."

"Not tonight," Galyan said. "Maker, I'm tired. What happened to Liranis?"

"I was walking her back to her quarters when Cassandra came by," Alte said. "She never stays long, thank the Maker, and we couldn't really talk over the sounds of you two going at it."

"I already told you that she was putting on a show for your benefit. I had nothing to do with it."

"'She made the headboard slap the wall on its own, did she? You need to tighten the joints on your bed."

"You heard that?" Galyan blanched. "Through a stone wall?"

"Through a stone wall with gratings along the ceiling," Alte laughed. "The templars may allow us the privacy to take a dump without being watched, but these rooms were not made to contain sound. I'm not complaining. It made her more eager to leave."

"Really? The sound of lovers always made me more amorous. But if you haven't seen her in years, maybe you didn't need the encouragement.."

"Wait," Alte said, "you think Liranis and I are lovers?"

"Aren't you? You certainly used to be."

"I'm not sure we ever were. She used to demand favors from me, but I was coerced.."

"You seemed willing enough the time I joined you," Galyan said.

"That was the beginning of the end, praise Andraste," Alte said. "If you remember, she was more interested in your attentions than mine."

"Don't remind me. Really, don't. My day has been bad enough already. Anyway, what does she want from you now?"

"Lyrium," Alte said, "and whatever potions I can smuggle out of the storeroom."

"You're a thief?"

"I always was. That's how we met. I was running with a gang of thugs in Jader. I didn't know how old I was, but I couldn't have been more than eight or nine. I was working the marketplace cutting purses when I got caught stealing from her master. He had a lot of clout. Everyone owed him something. He kept a lot of secrets, for a price, and he possessed an enormous sense of entitlement. He was a Circle mage, but I doubt he spent more than two weeks a year inside its walls, and he dragged his apprentices with him everywhere he went. He was going to have me hanged for thievery, but she stopped him by suggesting the Circle as a more fitting punishment. I owe her my life, and she's been making me pay her back ever since."

"Alte, that was more than thirty years ago!" Galyan pointed out. "Surely, you must have discharged your obligation by now, especially if you've been giving her lyrium all this time. She must want something more from you than potions."

"From me, no," Alte said. "I amused her for a time, and she liked my face and my status, but my abilities never impressed her. And time has been kinder to her than it has been to me. She has no use for an impotent old man, apparently."

"You aren't that much older than me. And I've heard you and Elanie recently enough to know you aren't impotent."

"But neither my appetite nor my stamina is as good as it used to be. I can't even keep Elanie satisfied."

Awkward silence followed while Galyan fumbled for a way to change the subject.

"It's all right," Alte said when he proved not up to the task. "I already know she compares me to other men and finds me lacking."

"It doesn't have to be that way," Galyan said. "There are other ways -"

"And I use all of them, believe me. She still likes a good hard ride every once in a while, and I can't find it in my heart to deny her that, even if it means listening to my best friend screw her into oblivion."

"Is that why you told her you were having sex with Liranis? To push her into my bed?"

"Not entirely," Alte said. "She was curious about you, and if she's going to bang somebody, better it be somebody who will never fall in love with her. It's about appearances. We both needed to be seen bedding other people."

"This is the White Spire," Galyan said. "Nobody cares who you sleep with."

"That isn't entirely true," Alte said. "Nobody cares if you're promiscuous, but they start paying attention if you aren't. We've been together a long time, Elanie and me. Years, in fact, and people talk. Do you know what happens when mages are are suspected of being in love with each other? One of them gets sent to another Circle. I would rather not share her with you or anyone else, but I can't bear the thought of losing her."

"I'm sorry," Galyan said around the lump growing in his throat. "I... can't imagine what you're going through."

"I hate living like this, but what choice do we have?"

"You could tell her that you hide your jealousy to avoid being separated," Galyan suggested. "She thinks you don't care about her enough to mind who she sleeps with."

"I've tried, but it always comes out sounding as if I'm worried about what people think of me. I don't think she understands the danger. Maybe you could explain it better."

"I'm not sure asking me to moderate your relationship is a good idea. For any number of reasons."

"I'm not asking you to moderate our relationship," Alte said. He rose from the bed and tried to pace, but the size of Galyan's room made it look as if he were attempting to tread in place and failing. "I just want you to make her understand that I don't want people to think we're in love with each other."

"And that's where you lose her," Galyan said, drinking the wine Alte had forgotten and stretching out on the bed. "You're shifting the emphasis away from the habit of separating longtime lovers and placing it on appearances. You need to learn to talk to her, Alte. I can't do it for you."

"Why not? She's your friend, too."

"I'm not her favorite person right now, in case you've forgotten."

"Thank the Maker for that!" Alte said with something that sounded too much like bitterness. "I was terrified that once she found her way into your bed, she'd never come back to mine. I'm quite thankful she thinks you're an insensitive ass."

"And that's another reason I shouldn't meddle. I should have known better than to let things go as far as they did. Too many people have been hurt."

"I'm not angry with you for bedding her. You haven't been with anyone in years, and I did throw her in your lap. Elanie is upset, but she'll get over it eventually."

"That's forgiveness, not innocence, Alte," Galyan said. "You might not blame me, but I hurt you nonetheless, and Elanie, too. And myself. And..."

He stopped himself, unwilling to say the name. Alte did it for him.

"And Cassandra?" he asked gingerly, sitting down on the bed again and leaning against the wall. "Do you really think she's harboring feelings for you after ignoring you for all these years?"

"She wouldn't even say my name," Galyan said. "What could it be, if not pain?"

"She was probably trying not to laugh. Galyan, I hate to sound callous, but have you ever considered the possibility that you're holding onto something that never was? Have you ever wondered, even briefly, if she got all she wanted from you? Have you ever thought, if only for an instant, that not everyone is in love with you?"

Galyan rose from the bed with a jerk, seized the bottle, and stood at the door with his back to Alte. He drank deeply before drawing breath to reply, then let it out slowly before taking another drink.

"Was this the only bottle you brought?" he asked, extending the now-empty bottle.

"No," Alte said carefully. "There's another on top of the wardrobe. That was beneath me, old friend. I apologize."

"Open it," Galyan said without turning around. He heard Alte obey and waited for him to settle back on the bed before speaking again.

"You remember the day," he said. "I was up and bathed before dawn, waiting for her to arrive. It was the day after my promotion to senior enchanter. Maker, I was too young for that kind of responsibility. My things were still in crates, but I cleaned this room until the floor sparkled. You came in the afternoon and scolded me for pacing. I skipped dinner because I was afraid she would arrive while I was gone. And then she came, barely half an hour before lockdown.

"I don't remember what we talked about," he continued. "She told me about her day and how frustrating it had become to serve the increasingly forgetful Divine. She complained about errands, and dull-witted recruits, and about mages going off on a lark and forgetting to get clearance from the Circle. I gave her a massage. She started a fight about something. I don't remember what it was. I loved to watch her argue. Anger only heightened her beauty. I was cornered between the wardrobe and the bed, and she was standing there screaming at me, her nose practically in my mouth. I tried to push her away, but I pushed too hard. She staggered. By the Void, she let me have it! I went sailing across the room and hit my head on the washstand. She was overcome with remorse. She sat me on the bed and stroked my face as if I were a child. I laughed at how ridiculous she was being. She asked me if I thought it was funny and started... tickling me. I swear, she did! I was beside myself. I kissed her, and by the Maker, she kissed me back! I thought I knew the fire that drove her, but nothing prepared me for her passion.

"Jumping ahead, I don't know how long we slept. It was not morning yet. She stood where I'm standing now, with her back to me just as mine is to you. She was dressed - armored, even - and braiding her hair. She wore it long then. I asked her where she was going, but she didn't answer. I asked her if I had offended her but she didn't say anything. I pleaded, begged her to stay, but she didn't even acknowledge that she heard me. There was nothing more I could say. And then she looked back. Alte, I have never seen such... regret.

"For days, I clung to the hope that she was only sorry that duty called her away. She would send a letter in a few days telling me when to expect her again. She was never happy about leaving. She had always written before to thank me for the visit and tell me the next time she would be in the city, but no letter came. Days became weeks, and weeks became months. Eventually, I bribed a templar to tell me of her whereabouts. She had been in Val Royeaux the whole time, but no, there had been no correspondence. She had even walked by a class I was teaching on her way to the First Enchanter's office, but no one told me."

He returned to the bed and sat beside a now-silent Alte, taking the bottle from his unresisting hands and drinking from it before handing it back and leaning against the wall himself.

"Yes, Alte, I have asked myself those questions," he said. "Every day for the last thirteen years. But even though I hear the answer in the silence, I can't let go of the hope that I'm wrong. It's all I have left."

Alte drank some of the wine and passed the bottle back.

"So, will you talk to Elanie or not?" he asked.

Galyan turned to stare at him, unable to believe his best friend, the man he trusted more than anyone else in the world, could be so unfeeling.

"Are you serious?" he asked Alte. "You can listen to me pour my heart out and let it go as if it meant nothing?"

"I know what she meant to you," Alte said while Galyan drank. "And it's possible that I remember the evening better than you do. I also remember the six months you spent in your room, ignoring your apprentices and not even coming down for meals. If it weren't for the wine, you would have starved to death. If it weren't for your healing, the First Enchanter would have made you Tranquil, Harrowed mage or not."

"I heard the two of you talking in your room," Galyan said. "I was terrified that he'd actually go through with it."

"That was for your benefit. The actual conversation took place in his office, we just did it again next door because we knew you'd hear it. What good is the threat of Tranquility if the mage doesn't know it exists? You did come around after that, so his gamble paid off. I wasn't sure that it would. I worried that you yourself might prefer to feel nothing at that point."

"Tranquility would have taken my love for Cassandra away, too. My recovery was an act, you know. I was just as miserable as before. I only learned to feign joviality."

"But you were teaching your apprentices again," Alte said. "And you were a complete, unmitigated ass."

"I had forgotten how to act like a human being. I regret putting such a strain on our friendship."

"You're still doing it," Alte said irritably, his voice only slightly slurred by the wine. "I'm sick of Cassandra. She's never coming back."

"She did come back!" Galyan protested. "Tonight. Had I been strong enough to resist Elanie..."

"You still would be sleeping alone. She needed a healer, nothing more."

"She needed a healer and she came to me! I'm in her thoughts, just as she is in mine."

"Hardly! Galyan, think. Step out of that shrine you've built for her in your mind and see what's really there. You've made a temple for her out of the virtues you possess, your fidelity and your faith. You've decorated it with golden vessels full of hope and ever-flowing fountains of love. She did not put them there, you did. You sacrifice your dreams to her nightly, and she's just as deaf to them as the Maker. You cherish half-remembered conversations like the Chant of Light. You aren't remembering her, you're praying to an idol you made. She does think of you, yes, in the same way she thinks of the scythe she left in the rafters of her father's barn. You're nothing but a tool to her, Galyan, and it's time you accepted that."

"You don't know her!" Galyan retorted in wine-fueled defiance. "You don't know her and you don't know me!"

"Don't I? I've been your constant companion for twenty-five years. How many times have we sat on a bed and told each other things we wouldn't tell to a mirror? You have no secrets from me. And you know I'm right, or you would have struck me by now."

"Violence doesn't solve anything. And I know you aren't trying to hurt me."

"I am trying to hurt you! I'm trying to make you remember your pride. You're a man, not some tool in a shed to be taken out when needed and forgotten until next time. The dream-woman you venerate would never treat anyone like that, and if Cassandra does, that just proves that the two are not the same. You should be angry about what she did to you - tonight's humiliation and what happened thirteen years ago. You shouldn't be drinking yourself numb over it."

"What do you expect me to do?" Galyan asked wearily, spent in body and spirit. "If she doesn't see me as a man, I can't make her."

"You can't change her feelings. You can only change your own. You need to let her go."

"I... can't."

"You won't."

"I'm drunk."

"Then you need to go to bed," Alte said.

"I do," Galyan said heavily. "And I will talk to Elanie, but you have to be there. We'll do it together."

"Thank you, old friend," Alte said, getting up and weaving tipsily toward the door. "Sleep well."

And he did.


	6. Chapter 6: Criminal

Galyan awoke to the feeling of someone looming over him. His eyes focused sluggishly - the consequence of a monstrous hangover - but when they did, he found that his premonitions were accurate. A pair of templars stood beside the bed. The female seized his wrists and locked handcuffs around them.

"I don't mind playing rough," he grunted, "but let me at least wake up first."

"Shut your mouth if you want to keep your teeth," the male advised as the female stripped the blankets from him. His voice sounded familiar, although he could not place it. Their helmets made them all anonymous.

"Am I being charged with something, or are you doing this for the thrills?" Galyan asked recklessly.

"You're under arrest," the female said. "That's all you need to know."

Her tone was firm, but calm, and chillingly candid. His breath caught as her words sank in. He tried to withdraw his hands with a jerk, but her grip was relentless. The spasm of shock he suffered at her statement reminded him painfully of a need that would not wait much longer.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Fire lanced through his brain at the sudden change in elevation.

"Please, ser," he said, his head pounding, "I'll go willingly, but give me a moment of privacy first."

"Why in Andraste's name should we do that?" she demanded. "You're a dangerous criminal!"

"Because I've got to piss," he said bluntly. "Mage or not, we all need to do the same thing when we first wake up."

The male templar retrieved the chamber pot from under the bed and positioned it between his feet, half under the bed.

"Hurry up," the female commanded.

"Aren't you going to take these off?" Galyan asked, raising his hands.

"No."

He bit back the retort forming on his lips. If she did not comprehend the impossibility of his position, her male companion certainly did. The sadist was snickering inside his helm. In a way it was reassuring. If the man was relaxed enough to enjoy Galyan's discomfort, the charges against him must not be too grave.

The only justice his bladder required was on the floor and out of lurched off the bed and knelt, leaning over the vessel as far as he could and bracing his forehead against the mattress. The angle was only slightly better and his bound hands made it difficult for him to simultaneously hike up his robes and aim, but he was able to maintain an awkward balance long enough to obtain relief. He should probably have been mortified by the templars' continued presence, but after what Cassandra had witnessed the night before, it was nothing. Every moment of his life was subject to surveillance. Any apprentice too shy to urinate in front of an audience would probably explode. Life as a templar must be boring indeed if they could find such amusement in their charges' body functions.

"Any other emergencies?" the female templar sneered as she and her partner hauled him to his feet. "We're fresh out of lavender water, I'm afraid."

Galyan said nothing and allowed himself to be frog marched down the corridor toward the stairs. He had recovered from the shock of being arrested, but had no desire to add to the charges against him by defying the templars' orders. There must be some mistake. A moment's patience, a chat with the First Enchanter, and everything would be cleared up.

He expected them to lead him to the First Enchanter's office, but they climbed to the Knight-Commander's office instead. Knight-Commander Eron was not there. In his place stood a tall, slender man with chiseled features. First Enchanter Edmonde stood half-stooped over the desk, leafing through a sheaf of papers and setting each aside as he examined it.

"Senior D'Marcall," the stranger said, "you were charged with one task yesterday. Is an entire day insufficient to deliver a message?"

"No, ser," Galyan said, his eyes falling upon the Seeker emblem on the man's armor. Recollection crept over him like a rising tide. He had neglected to inform the teachers that their classes had been reassigned.

"Then you deliberately withheld information that would have avoided incident with our 'guests,'" his accuser said. It was not a question.

"Senior Regalyan is recovering from a healing he performed last night," First Enchanter Edmonde interjected. "A healing performed at a Seeker's request."

"I am aware of the circumstances, First Enchanter," he said coldly. The glint in his eye gave Galyan the impression that he was aware of them in every uncomfortable detail. "I am aware of this man's participation in events that did not occur until nearly midnight. Are we to reward procrastination?"

The First Enchanter seemed to collapse in on himself, but remained silent.

"Then we agree," the as yet unnamed man went on as if Edmonde had given the desired answer, "as I am certain we will agree to the penalty. Taken alone, the senior enchanter's omission could be regarded as a minor act of insubordination, petty defiance, if you will."

The Seeker's expression grew sly as he observed Galyan's cautious hopefulness mirrored on the First Enchanter's face. At first blush, the charges against Galyan did not seem to heinous, but the Seeker's reaction to his optimism was not encouraging.

"But we must consider the consequences of his actions, must we not?" he said blandly, pausing to let the implications sink in. "Had Senior D'Marcall conveyed the instructions my predecessor set forth, it would have greatly mitigated the impression of chaos our visitors no doubt formed of their hosts. That augments the charge to aggravated insubordination."

"They were supposed to be gone by now!" Galyan retorted, regretting it instantly.

"Do you claim to know better than the Divine when a guest's stay should end?" the Seeker snapped. "Does the First Enchanter encourage such arrogance?"

"No, Seeker," Galyan said meekly, praying that the First Enchanter would not suffer for his lack of restraint.

"_Lord_ Seeker, Senior D'Marcall," he corrected. "And it does you no credit to defy the will of your own First Enchanter as readily as you defy the will of the Divine."

"In light of recent events, it was deemed prudent that our guests remain where they are until the investigation of... unrelated matters... is complete," Edmonde said quietly.

"They will be here long enough to observe that subversive behavior is not taken lightly," the self-styled Lord Seeker said. "You are dismissed. You are confined to quarters until you are summoned for sentencing. First Enchanter, you will remain."

Galyan hesitated, unsure whether he should bow or merely exit the room with all possible haste. The latter seemed more advisable.

The templars who escorted him were waiting in the corridor. They marched him back to his room and closed the door behind them. The female held his arms aloft while the male passed a chain through the gap between his manacles and fed one end through an iron ring set in the wall. He pulled the chain taut, increasing the tension until Galyan's feet barely touched the floor. He had always wondered what that ring was for. He sometimes hung a lantern from it, but it seemed extravagant to build a lantern hook into the wall when his washstand would serve just as well. Now he knew.

"You go back to our post," the male told the female. "I'll be along in a moment."

"You aren't even going to let me watch?" the female replied, her gaze shifting downward, whether to Galyan's buttocks or the templar's crotch, Galyan could not say.

"Not this time," the male said. There was a rough breathlessness to the man's voice that had not been there a moment before. It sent shivers of dread down Galyan's spine. The woman muttered something that sounded like disappointment and left, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the latch closed, the templar turned his attention to Galyan. He clamped a hand over his mouth and leaned in until helmet grazed his ear.

"Not a sound out of you, understand?" he hissed. Galyan nodded, wondering who the man even was.

Without another word, the templar grabbed his prisoner's hips, pulling him close and grinding his pelvis against his backside. He kicked Galyan's bare feet apart and pulled up his robe until it was bunched up in a roll above his buttocks. Cool autumn air caressed his bare skin in a way that would have been pleasurable were he not about to be violated.

The door opened. Galyan turned his head to the sound and caught a brief glimpse of Alte's startled face before the templar jumped away from him, letting his robe fall back into place as he retreated. Alte said nothing as the templar pushed past him into the corridor.

"I have never been more grateful to you in my life," Galyan said with sincerity.

"I... I don't believe my eyes!" Alte gasped. "You're a senior enchanter!"

"Doesn't matter," Galyan said. "I'm chained to the wall. How was I going to stop him?"

"You could report him! They aren't allowed to do that kind of thing!"

"I... don't know," Galyan looked away, sagging against the restraints that held him up. Now that the immediate danger was past, the adrenaline that had sustained him up to that point drained away, leaving him exhausted, nauseous, and terrified. How many times had he passed the man in the corridor? Had they ever exchanged awkward apologies while attempting to use the same door at the same time? Would he find himself kneeling beside him to receive the reverend mother's blessing the next time he was in the chantry? They were all men and women in helmets to Galyan... and he was probably just another robe-clad object to them. "I'm not as brave as you are, my friend."

"Do you want me to say something?" Alte asked.

"No. I want you to say nothing of what you saw to anyone. I'm afraid that he may attempt retaliation against you as it is."

"Oh, I don't know if he's as committed to sodomy as all that," Alte said. "If he were, he could have ordered me back to my room and carried on."

"Or he could seek out an unguarded target in the apprentice dormitories," Galyan sighed. "I almost wish you hadn't stopped him. Not that I want to be buggered by a templar, but it's better than subjecting some innocent to it."

"On that cheery note, how about I see what I can do about getting you down from that wall?" Alte changed the subject. "That can't be comfortable."

"It isn't, but I suspect that they want me to stay like this."

"Why?" Alte asked. "So they can come back and finish the job when I leave?"

"No," Galyan said. "I've been found guilty of aggravated insubordination."

"Whatever for? I wasn't even aware there was such a thing!"

"I forgot to tell the enchanters about the change in teaching assignments," Galyan said. "Knight-Commander Eron is gone and his replacement is takes discipline very, very seriously."

"Oh, no!" Alte groaned. "I forgot all about that. And I knew why you missed Chapter this morning. I should have said something."

"It isn't your fault I'm unreliable. I slept through Chapter entirely. How much of a stink did our guests make? To hear the Lord Seeker talk, they were rioting in the corridors."

"Most of them don't mind at all, to be honest," Alte said. "They don't have to wear shackles here, so they're better off than they are at home, and they have access to all the gossip they can stomach. The only one I know who's put out by it is Liranis."

"Why would she care? She's got a tower full of enchanters to warm her bed."

"You're naive if you think she takes lovers out of lust. It's power that attracts her, and her suitors' ability to do something for her. She's never been above trading favors for liberty, and for those that aren't interested, there's lyrium. When she's in Jader, she goes where she likes."

"And her sponsor doesn't mind having a mage prowl the streets?"

"She's claw deep in her sponsor's short and curlies," Alte said with a smirk. "He's a nobleman with some very particular quirks, and his wife isn't equipped to satisfy them. Linara's special talents are very much in demand in that household, I understand."

"Do I want the details?" Galyan asked, torn between curiosity and revulsion.

"No," Alte said firmly. "Suffice it to say that it involves specific kinds of pain. Speaking of which, are you sure I can't get you a stool or a ladder to stand on? My arms would be screaming by now."

"I would appreciate it, but don't go if you don't have one next door. I'm feeling a little vulnerable right now, and I appreciate having an ally in the room."

"The closest one I know of is in the library, so we'll have to hold off on that for a bit. I can't fit the bed between the wardrobe and the wall, so it has to stay where it is. How's the head?"

"I'd completely forgotten about that!" Galyan tried to chuckle, but it turned into a cough. "I woke up with the Maker's own wrath in my skull, but I've been too distracted recently to notice."

"Well, that's something, I guess, but I'm not sure I'd recommend it as a hangover cure."

"Which reminds me, you're awfully energetic this morning. Why aren't you as miserable as me?"

"Well, I'm better-looking than you are, for a start, and I'm not hanging by my armpits," Alte joked. "Oh, you mean why am I not hungover? I had dinner last night and breakfast this morning. You've had really are going to have to start taking better care of yourself. Although that may explain why you haven't spread out as much over the years as the rest of us. Which is probably for the best, given your current predicament."

Alte shifted into a more comfortable position on Galyan's bed.

"Did you talk to Elanie this morning?" Galyan asked after a while.

"After a fashion," Alte said. "She was cordial enough in Chapter, but she elected to have breakfast with Arnaud. I have no idea where they went afterward. And then Michel came in with his knickers in a twist because Sister Danielle was teaching religion to his herbalism class."

"I thought you said no one minded about the change in the roster!" Galyan said.

"I said that none of the court mages minded the changes. One or two residents were annoyed. But you know Michel. He throws a tantrum over everything."

"Poor Michel!" Galyan sympathized. "He really relies on routine to get him through his day. I hope he didn't take it too badly."

"He went off to sulk in the garden," Alte said. "A few hours pruning rose bushes and he'll be his usual self again. It's Gabriel I'm worried about."

"Your oldest apprentice? He's such a gentle soul! I can't imagine why'd he'd be put out."

"He isn't," Alte said. "He knows nothing about any of this, and likely never will. That's what I'm concerned about. I've been working with him exclusively over the last two months, but he has yet to master a single offensive spell."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Galyan said somewhat defensively. "My fireballs are a joke, but nobody ever questioned my qualifications as a mage."

"That's because they were in awe of your healing. After twelve years of apprenticeship, Gabriel can barely light a candle, and he can't heal at all. Ask him to chill a tumbler of water and he has to have a lie down. I keep trying him with different schools of magic, hoping to find some untapped potential, but so far, nothing. I don't know how much longer I can delay the decision about his Harrowing."

"You worry too much. He'll need his wits in the Fade, not raw spellpower. I'm no master of annihilation, but I got through my Harrowing just fine."

"The Harrowing is a test of character, not ability," Alte said. "Gabriel's got that in abundance, but I'm afraid he'll never get the chance to prove it. They have no interest in developing mages who'll never be able to hold their own in combat."

"You think they'll make him Tranquil instead?" Galyan asked.

"That's my fear, yes. It's ridiculous. He's the gentlest, most empathetic apprentice I've met, and they'll take that all away from him because they can't point him at an enemy and say 'Incinerate it.'"

"That's ridiculous. We're here because Chantry law requires mages to live in Circles. They don't require us to fight their battles for them."

"The explanation the First Enchanter gave me was that they're afraid weaker mages will resort to blood magic out of jealousy," Alte said.

"So, rather than teaching mages to accept that not everyone has the same abilities, they prefer to strip them of their humanity on the off chance that they might one day envy another's talent? That's insane."

"Personally, I doubt they're that concerned with his spiritual well being. They don't want the expense of feeding, housing, and clothing a mage they can't use as a weapon."

"It's no less expensive to feed, house, and clothe a Tranquil mage," Galyan pointed out.

"Tranquil mages are useful as servants. Harrowed mages can't be ordered to perform menial labor for the Chantry."

"I'll have to remember that next time I'm awakened in the middle of the night to heal a stranger," Galyan said.

"I wouldn't recommend that tack with Cassandra," Alte smiled wryly.

They fell into silence again, but eventually, the strain on Galyan's shoulders became unbearable. He shifted his feet, stood on his toes, pulled himself up so he could hang from the ring with the strength of his biceps, to no avail. An afternoon was too long to dangle by his wrists. Alte left to retrieve a ladder from the library.

Irony demanded that Galyan should be summoned during Alte's absence. Irony is never gainsaid.


	7. Chapter 7: Penitent

The door opened. Galyan expected Alte, returning with a stool, a ladder, or even a crate he could stand on to relieve the strain in his arms. He got templars - four of them, armored and helmed in anonymity.

His first impressions offered no solace. When their leader, a female wearing Knight-Lieutenant insignia, opened the lock holding his arms aloft, he fell to the ground with a yelp of pain. Blood flowed like fire through long-deprived muscle and sinew.

"Get up, get up!" the Knight-Lieutenant ordered, hauling him up by his armpits and setting him on shaky legs. "You're summoned to the Great Hall."

One of the lackeys unlocked his handcuffs while the others shuffled into position, one of them depositing a bucket of clear water on the floor. They crowded the room at first, but Galyan's bedroom was far too small for five adults to occupy at the same time, so two of the templars were obliged to wait in the corridor. The one with the keys opened Galyan's wardrobe and tossed his dress robes onto the bed.

"Official uniform, mage," he advised. "Put it on."

Galyan arms throbbed, but he dutifully stripped off Alte's borrowed robe. He wore nothing beneath, but he was too inured to Circle life to care who saw him naked. The Knight-Lieutenant was less indifferent.

"You may want to put on some pants, Senior D'Marcall," she instructed, then added in an almost-friendly aside, "you'll thank me later."

She pulled a well-worn pair of trousers from the bottom of the wardrobe and tossed them on top of his official robes. He donned them gratefully.

"Devareaux says this one gave him trouble earlier," said one of the templars in the corridor. From the voice, she was one of the pair who had escorted him to his hearing... which meant that she knew what this Devareaux had attempted. He wondered if the man had been as candid about his failure.

"This man was confined to quarters at noon, according to your report," the Knight-Lieutenant said. "Was he restrained at that time as we found him?"

"Yes, ser," the woman said, vacillating between hesitation and obedience.

"It will be noted in my report," the Knight-Lieutenant said. "In the future, you will follow your orders as directed. You will refrain from exercising discretion unless instructed to do so. Do I make myself clear?"

"But Knight-Lieutenant, the charges -" she began.

"You were instructed to escort Senior D'Marcall to his quarters," the Knight-Lieutenant said, "where he was to remain until sentencing. I have examined both Lord Seeker Lambert's directive and your report and I see the words 'flight risk' mentioned precisely nowhere. Was there an omission, or were you conducting an experiment to see how long a man's shoulders could resist dislocation?"

The rebuked templar muttered something about prudence.

"I'm waiting, Simone," the Knight-Lieutenant said.

"It will not happen again," Simone said.

"Very well," said the Knight-Lieutenant. "Senior D'Marcall, you will don the selected apparel and attend your customary toilette before meeting us outside in the corridor in a quarter hour's time. We will provide your escort to the Great Hall."

Galyan decided that he liked this Knight-Lieutenant. There was nothing of warmth or congeniality in her tone, but she did seem to regard her role as a duty as opposed to a license to abuse him. Moreover, she permitted him time to comb his hair and wash away the worst of the wine-stench that clung to him from his late-night excess. Had she brought him a meal, he might have professed his love for her on the spot.

If his toilette took longer than the quarter hour allowed, the Knight-Lieutenant said nothing of it. Instead, she ordered one of her men to handcuff him again. This time, they bound his hands behind his back.

"Your records indicate no history disciplinary infractions, so if you will allow it, I will give you an idea of what to expect," she said.

"Please do," Galyan replied after nodding and realizing that the limited peripheral vision of her helmet would not allow her to see the gesture.

"The proceedings will take the form of a trial, but they are not," she said. "You have already been found guilty on all counts and sentence has been decided. As the sentence handed down is a public one, the Lord Seeker and First Enchanter agreed that the charges should be read aloud prior to carrying it out. You will be asked to reply several times. 'Yes' and 'no' are the only acceptable answers. Should you answer counter to your earlier confession, the charge of perjury will be added to the list. I advise against it."

"'Guilty on all counts'?" Galyan repeated. He was reluctant to question the templar, but her candor encouraged his confidence. "I'm aware of the charge of aggravated insubordination, but no others. What other charges are there?"

"You've been found guilty of sedition," she said, half-turning to look at his face. "You didn't know?"

"Of course, I didn't know!" Galyan protested. "They never said a word about it!"

"Aha," the Knight-Lieutenant said, "that charge seems to have been added later, after the investigation yielded additional information. You were probably never advised of it because your guilt was never in question. You were under the direct observation of a templar at the time."

"You can't be serious!" Galyan's knees began to buckle. "I'll be executed!"

"That is possible," the Knight-Lieutenant said with something that sounded like regret. "If so, there is nothing you can do to prevent it. Do you need a moment to compose yourself?"

"And all this has already been decided? You're marching me to my death and you know it?""

"I am escorting you to the place where your sentence will be carried out," she said. "I am not privy to all the documents pertaining to your case, but I consider the possibility of execution to be remote. Detention or flogging are more likely."

"The charge was added later, you say?" he asked in a marginally calmer voice. "When?"

"After you were returned to your quarters."

"Who was the templar who observed whatever I'm said to have done?"

"Ser Devareaux."

Galyan's confusion cleared, leaving emptiness in its wake. Devareaux had his revenge, and there was nothing Galyan could do about it. Or was there? He might not be able to prevent his own death, but he could take the templar with him. Alte would vouch for him, if necessary.

"What is this insurrection I'm said to have provoked?" Galyan asked.

"I don't know," the Knight-Lieutenant said. "The only uprising I'm aware of occurred last night at the ball, and your name does not appear in the reports. It's possible that it's some lesser matter. My orders were to see that you made yourself presentable and to escort you to the Great Hall with dignity. That seems like a lot of courtesy to invest in a dead man."

They had arrived at the Great Hall. The Knight Lieutenant paused to remove her helmet before giving the order to open the doors. It was the woman he had healed. She was young, pretty, even.

"Oh, good," Galyan said. "I worried that the burns you suffered might scar."

"How did you...Oh, the healer. I owe..."

He inclined his head in lieu of a bow.

"Or perhaps it is me who owes a life," he said. "We'll find out in a few moments."

She regarded him in confusion for a moment, but they could not remain on the threshold forever.

"Open the doors," she said.

Every mage in the tower must have been gathered in that room. They sat on long rows of benches facing a raised dais. Every face turned to stare at him as he passed. His breath caught at the sight of the apprentices seated at the front, with a templar behind each of the very youngest. Janelle cried out when she saw him and tried to run toward him, but the templar behind her seized her around the waist and deposited her roughly on the bench. A middle-aged woman in senior enchanter's robes worked her way forward and knelt beside her, putting her arm around the child and patting her hand. Galyan turned away, sick at the thought of what these children were about to see.

The Knight-Lieutenant put a hand on his arm.

"Be strong," she whispered. "It will be over soon."

She led him directly before the dais and dismissed the rest of his retinue.

The lectern that normally occupied the center of the dais had been removed. In its place stood a tall wooden barrel, chest-high, draped with chains, and stained with something dark and foreboding. A carved rosewood throne sat to one side. At present, both it and the dais were empty.

A gong resounded through the hall. Galyan looked toward the source of the sound, but the Knight-Lieutenant directed his gaze forward.

"I didn't know we had a gong," he muttered apologetically.

The Knight-Lieutenant nudged his knee with her own and he knelt, although he did not bow his head. Behind him, he heard the rustles of five hundred mages and apprentices rising to their feet.

A double line of templars marched up the aisle and halted within feet of the stairs leading up to the dais. The turned with precision and went down on one knee as two men advanced between their ranks. The Lord Seeker's lean figure loomed over the armored heads of the templars, resplendent in his glittering black armor. He mounted the dais with purpose and strode to his place beside the throne with the solemnity - and grandeur - of a king. First Enchanter Edmonde followed more slowly. He had put aside his customary grey robes in favor of more formal attire. The white Circle emblem gleamed across his burgundy velvet-covered back. His head drooped, as if he could not bear the weight of it. At the gesture from the Lord Seeker, a templar moved to assist the old man up the stairs. He sank wearily onto the throne and covered his face with his hands before addressing the assembly.

"Please... be seated," he said. His voice was too weak to be heard by all but those closest to him, but after watching the first rows sit down, the rest got the idea. The Knight-Lieutenant placed a hand on Galyan's shoulder, reminding him that he should remain kneeling.

"Senior Regalyan D'Marcall -" the First Enchanter began.

"Forgive me, First Enchanter," the Lord Seeker interrupted. "I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to exhaust yourself by addressing so large an assembly. Allow me to read the judgment against this mage."

"This order bears my signature and my seal," the First Enchanter said more loudly. "I will not allow another to speak in my name in this matter. There is a mage present who can amplify my voice. Let Enchanter Linaris come forward."

Galyan watched her advance to the foot of the dais. The years had been kind to her, at least as far as her figure was concerned. She was as slender as ever, and she undulated toward the platform with a studied grace more reminiscent of a snake than of a willow bough. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and untouched by grey. It floated in rose-gold waves past shoulders, waist, and hips. The latter, time had altered, he observed, rounding them in ways he found difficult to ignore. A templar rushed to offer her his hand up the steps, and Galyan took the opportunity to reacquaint himself with her features.

Time had been less kind to her visage than it had been to her body. Her features were small and regular, but the years had not softened the pinched lines of her face. Her delicate, upturned nose was just as sharp as ever, and the firm lines of her lips, just as resolute. No flush of health colored her ivory cheeks, nor wine, either. Her skin was unmarred by wrinkle, scar, or windburn, but it lacked the luster of vitality. Her eyes were as blue as they had always been, but they spoke of ice. She was beautiful, yes, but not pleasing. Compared to plump, vivacious Elanie, she was repellent.

Liranis approached the throne warily. The First Enchanter beckoned her closer. She glared at Galyan and bent forward to whisper something in the First Enchanter's ear.

"You must, my dear," the First Enchanter said. "I will not ask you to read the order, have no fear... although your feelings on the matter may make its contents more palatable."

Whatever comfort the Knight-Lieutenant's briefing had given him evaporated at the First Enchanter's words. He trembled, but the gauntleted fingers on his shoulder tightened in reassurance.

"Senior Regalyan D'Marcall," the First Enchanter began again, his augmented voice filling the hall, "you have served the Circle faithfully these twenty-five years."

"You're called to answer for crimes committed against the Circle," the Lord Seeker interrupted. "Everyone here knows him, First Enchanter. Kindly read the scroll."

The old man seemed to fall in on himself. He sat in dazed silence for a moment, then drew a roll of creamy new parchment from the breast of his robe. He worried at it with shaking hands as he fumbled to break the seal. The Lord Seeker took the scroll from him and unfurled it, holding it steady in front of the First Enchanter's chest.

"Senior Regalyan, you stand accused of aggravated insubordination. By failing to execute orders given to you by our late Knight-Commander, you deliberately promoted chaos in our ranks. Do you dispute the charge?"

"No, First Enchanter," Galyan replied steadily. Ignoring mitigating circumstances, the charge was technically true. He could not deny it, even if debate were an option.

"Senior Regalyan, you stand accused of sedition. You were observed advocating unlawful magic use to a group of apprentices during a Circle-sponsored lesson in the sanctum of the library. Do you dispute the charge?"

"The accused requests clarification, First Enchanter," the Knight-Lieutenant said, pitching her voice so it could be heard over the gasps of the assembled mages.

The First Enchanter sighed and leaned forward, pushing away the scroll the Lord Seeker held.

"Unsupervised spellcasting is illegal, my son," he said, meeting Galyan's gaze with sad, tired eyes. "Even if the children are too young to cast spells, and even if their intention is to help their neighbors. By encouraging them to think of ways they might do so, you're encouraging them to break Chantry law."

Galyan swayed where he knelt, prompting the Knight-Lieutenant to apply a steadying thigh to his back. Every word the First Enchanter said was true, even if they were all taken out of context. The templar, Ser Devareaux, must have been the one who summoned him for his meeting with the Knight-Commander.

"Do you dispute the charges?" the First Enchanter repeated.

"No, First Enchanter," Galyan said heavily.

"So be it. I now pronounce the sentence: forty lashes across the back, to be administered here before the assembly."

The Lord Seeker stepped forward again, thrusting the scroll in front of the First Enchanter's face and pointing to a paragraph near the bottom.

"Sixty lashes, First Enchanter," he said. "The first charge carries twenty, the second, forty. They are to be administered consecutively."

"Senior Regalyan has served -"

"Senior D'Marcall is a strong, healthy mage," the Lord Seeker said firmly. "He is reputed by his colleagues to possess an unshakable constitution. Sixty lashes will not kill him."

"As the Maker wills it," the First Enchanter sighed.

"Additionally, the liberty of all court mages is revoked. They will remain in the tower indefinitely or until such time as the curriculum and policies of the Circle can be brought into conformance with Chantry-established guidelines. Senior D'Marcall is to be removed from the teaching faculty immediately and his apprentices are to be reassigned to more trustworthy mages."

"Senior Regalyan's apprentices are healers, Lord Seeker," the First Enchanter protested, sitting straighter in his chair. "Healers or apprentices who have failed to establish rapport with other mentors. There is no one else who can help them."

"There is no other healer in the White Spire?" the Lord Seeker sounded skeptical.

"Senior Rhys is a healer," the First Enchanter offered in his blandest voice.

"That will do, First Enchanter," the Lord Seeker snapped. "Knight-Lieutenant, bring the prisoner forward."

The Knight-Lieutenant helped Galyan to his feet. His stomach roiled at the thought of being beaten, but it was better than death. Liranis shot him a look of undisguised venom as she descended from the dais.

"Apprentices aged fourteen and younger will now return to their dormitories," the First Enchanter shouted, standing in order to project his voice without magical amplification.

"Apprentices aged fourteen and younger will remain precisely where they are!" the Lord Seeker contradicted. "No mage is too young to see the penalty for defying the Maker's will."

The Knight-Lieutenant helped Galyan out of his robe and withdrew, leaving two other templars to bend him over the barrel and chain his wrists to his ankles. The coarse wood would leave splinters in his chest, but he expected that would be the least of his discomforts by the time they were done. First Enchanter Edmonde approached him, whip in hand. It was shorter than he expected, barely the length of his arm, handle included, but each of its many cords ended in a vicious, wax-sealed knot.

"First Enchanter, I cannot allow this," the Lord Seeker said, taking the lash from the frail man's hands and gesturing for a burly templar to come forward. "Your dedication to justice is noted, but you must not tax your strength in this way."

The First Enchanter relented. He stepped back, but only enough to allow him to stand in front of Galyan. He crouched until his face was level with the younger man's and brought his mouth close to his ear.

"I am sorry, my son," he said softly. "I would have prevented it if I could."

"I.. I know, First Enchanter." Galyan found it difficult to talk with the barrel pressing the wind out of him.

"I'll come to you when... when this is over."

A chantry sister was led before him, but he could see nothing but her feet and the hem of her robe.

"Do you repent, sinner?" she asked in a stern voice.

"Yes," Galyan's said aloud while his soul screamed defiance. He did not regret his refusal to lie to his peers. He did not regret telling children that being different did not mean being wrong. He did regret the cowardice that prevented him from standing by his convictions. Perhaps this was his atonement for that failing.

"Maker have mercy upon you," the priest intoned as the templar with the whip came forward. He held out a strip of thick, toughened leather and forced it between Galyan's teeth. He prepared himself.

The first stroke fell. It stung, but it was not unbearable. Perhaps his punishment was not so grievous after all. By the tenth, he was forced to revise his opinion. There was no rhythm to the templar's blows, so he was never prepared when the next one came. Sticky trickles of blood seeped into his trousers and his nails cut into his palms.

By the thirtieth stroke, he began to wonder when he would pass out. He was in agony, and it increased by the moment, but he did not feel faint. Tears stung his eyes, but only his tormentor would see them. By the fortieth, he began to pray to Andraste to let him lose consciousness, if only for a few moments. After the fiftieth, he reached a plateau. The lash still fell, but all he felt was burning, and a wetness as his blood soaked what little clothing he wore. He thanked the Maker for His mercy and drifted, counting out the last ten strokes with a calm that approached madness.

He was awake when they unchained his limbs and pulled him off the barrel, but his legs would not hold him. He fell to the ground and watched the ceiling swim into focus overhead. He heard children crying - the apprentices, no doubt frightened by all the blood.

"Are you all right, Galyan?" the First Enchanter asked anxiously, stooping over him with audibly creaking knees.

Galyan smiled reassurance, but he was too lethargic to make any other response.

The Lord Seeker addressed the assembly again, threatening to repeat the punishment if anyone healed Galyan by any magical or medicinal means. He dismissed the assembly and summoned a litter to take Galyan to his room.

"You have pretty hair," Galyan said to the Knight-Lieutenant as she helped lift him onto the stretcher. She stared at him in alarm, but he simply lay back upon his ravaged back and laughed... which immediately turned into a cough, and then silence as sleep claimed him.


	8. Chapter 8: Wounded

Galyan awoke screaming as fire ravaged his back.

"I know it hurts, but it's all we can do for you," Elanie's voice said.

He lay on his stomach, on his own blood-streaked mattress. Elanie sat beside him, blotting torn skin with a sponge soaked in something that felt like acid.

"What are you doing to me?" he groaned, bracing himself for more pain.

"It's brine. The infirmarian said it would reduce the risk of infection."

"Oh. I suppose healing me is out of the question?" Galyan asked hopefully.

"It does rather defeat the purpose of whipping you in the first place," she replied. He could hear her smile in her voice. She must have forgiven him. "Really, Galyan, what were you thinking, telling the apprentices something like that?"

"I was thinking it might be fun for the children to come up with reasons why they aren't monsters. I guess that was foolish."

"You always were a dreamer," she said with unexpected fondness.

"How bad does it look?" he asked.

"It's going to scar. I'd say that it makes you look rakish, but that would be a lie. It's hideous. Still, it could be worse. Who's ever going to see it?"

"Who indeed?" Galyan chuckled, which he regretted instantly. "Elanie, about last night..."

She sighed.

"Why did you have to bring that up?" she asked. "We were having such a lovely time cleaning your wounds."

"Because I don't know how long it will be before we're alone again. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. Cassandra - the Seeker - once meant a great deal to me. I should have been more respectful of your dignity, but I was too startled to think clearly."

"When you say that she meant a lot to you, what specifically are you talking about? Were you friends?"

"We were, and lovers, too," he said.

"How in Thedas did that happen?" Elanie laughed.

"It's a long story, and it did not have a happy ending. She left me... and I guess I never really got over it."

"I'm sorry she hurt you, but you should have known better. She's a Seeker; you're a mage. It would never work. She probably realized that and wanted to spare you the pain of finding out."

"I hoped... It doesn't matter. The point is that I did not know better, I did fall in love, and when she showed up last night, everything came back to me. I should have reacted better, but I was overwhelmed. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Elanie said.

"That's it?" Galyan turned to look at her, trying to ignore the pain motion caused. "I expected a rant, at least!"

"I'll save that for a time when you aren't half-naked and at my mercy."

"Cruel woman! Where's Alte?"

"He's praying in the chantry with Gabriel, his apprentice," she said with a sigh. "They made the apprentices sit in front, and the boy was deeply upset."

"That bastard. He should never have made the apprentices watch. Speaking of which, I'm worried about Janelle. How did she handle it?"

"She didn't see a thing," Elanie said. "She was crying the whole time and hiding in Senior Danielle's skirts. You're probably going to wind up with another apprentice. I don't think she trusts anyone else. I am sorry they stripped you of your position. I know that meant a lot to you."

"I'll be sorry to lose my class of first years, but it was probably inevitable. Edmonde's been trying to get me to give it up for years. He wants me to focus more on research. I keep trying to tell him that you can't teach people spirit-assisted healing, but he thinks there's some spell or ritual that can unlock the potential."

"And how do you know there isn't unless you look?" the First Enchanter's voice asked from the corridor. "Make yourself decent, Senior Regalyan, you have a very special visitor."

Elanie draped a sheet across his body, but the blood soaked through instantly. She threw a woolen blanket on top. It would stain, as well, but it was dark enough to hide the worst of it. She opened the door. The First Enchanter and Janelle stood on the threshold. The small girl took two steps into the room, but froze when she saw Elanie.

"It's alright, Janelle," Galyan said. "I'm very glad you came to visit."

She ran to the bed and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his pillow.

"The matron said she wouldn't sleep until she saw you," First Enchanter Edmonde said, smiling at the girl's affection.

"Does it hurt, Senior 'Galyan?" she asked. He should probably discourage her from using the informal, diminutive form of his name, but she was very young, and the R sound was tricky.

"Yes," he answered truthfully before following up with some judicious dishonesty, "but I'll be good as new in a few days. You were very brave today."

"Why did the bad man have to hurt you?"

"He isn't a bad man," he said, completely unsure whether that was truth or lie. "He has a very difficult job to do, watching over us all and making sure we do the right thing. I made some mistakes, and I had to be punished."

"Will I be punished like you were if I do something wrong?" she asked innocently.

And there it was, the question he dreaded more than any other. He could not promise her that she would never be beaten or worse. He did not want to frighten her, but he needed to be truthful with her.

"Have faith, Janelle," he said. "If you always do what you know deep down to be right, the Maker will make you strong enough to get through anything bad that happens afterward."

"Were you with the Maker today, Senior 'Galyan?"

"I don't know," he said carefully. "I know that something made the pain go away. It would be prideful of me to claim the Maker's favor over such a little thing, but I do feel that some good Fade spirit was watching over me. Just as some good Fade spirit watches over you. But these are awfully big things to talk about so close to bedtime. The matron will worry about you."

"Can I come see you again tomorrow?" she asked. "The bad man said you won't be teaching us anymore."

Galyan glanced at the First Enchanter for confirmation before responding. At his superior's nod, he said, "Of course, Janelle. You're still my apprentice, and we're still friends. We'll be seeing each other every day for a long, long time. But it's probably not a good idea to call the Seeker anything but Lord Seeker, even when we're alone. We live in a very small world, my child, and it's best to speak well of people, even if they aren't there to hear you."

Straining against the ache of his tortured back, he was able to raise himself enough to kiss her forehead. She giggled at the brush of his whiskers and hugged him harder before letting him go.

"Now be a good girl and go with Enchanter Elanie," he said. "She'll take you back to the matron and help put you to bed."

Elanie glared at Galyan for making her escort the girl to the nursery, but she said nothing to indicate her displeasure, for which Galyan was thankful.

"It's a pity that mages don't have families of their own," First Enchanter Edmonde said once they were gone. "You would have liked being a father, I think."

"I'd need to find a woman who would have me for that," Galyan said ruefully. "I've had no luck with that whatsoever."

"Regardless, you've done very well with your apprentices. Janelle is still shyer than I'd like, but she isn't cowering in the corners anymore. Considering that she has been here less than a month, I'm impressed. And you've made remarkable progress with Evard. He's attending most of his classes and I haven't heard complaints about fighting in over a season."

"He's got a lot of resentment to work through," Galyan said. "I find that letting him explode walnuts helps tremendously with his aggression. Speaking of nuts, would you mind sending down to the kitchens for some oatmeal or something? I haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning."

"Of course," Edmonde said, apparently relishing the informality their privacy allowed. In public, the Circle's council had to maintain appearances and use honorifics any time a name was mentioned, but in private, they returned to a more casual relationship with gratitude. "I'll send the order down as soon as I leave. You're probably the only person in the tower with an appetite. I pity the kitchen staff. They served the most perfectly roasted beef at dinner, and no one would touch it. I've never seen so many green-faced apprentices!"

"I can well imagine! This Lord Seeker of yours should be flogged himself for forcing them to watch."

"He's not my Lord Seeker!" Edmonde said emphatically. "I'm going to miss Knight-Commander Eron. I know, not many people will, except by comparison, but he was a decent man, if aloof. He made a grave misjudgment with Liranis, and it haunted him for the rest of his career."

"Liranis?" Galyan asked, patting the bed beside him. "What has she got to do with him?"

"She was ineligible for her appointment as court mage," Edmond said, gratefully taking the offered seat. "She was competent enough as a spellcaster, but her apprenticeship scarred her. I wanted a less... politic... ambassador for the Circle. Knight-Commander Eron was very eager to gain the trust of his charges at that point - he was trying to distance himself from Knight-Commander Martel - and he allowed her to seduce him. He got her with child, and she threatened to expose him unless he persuaded me to to grant her the posting in Jader."

"She would!" Galyan snorted.

"Don't be so judgmental," Edmond said with uncharacteristic harshness. "You're no better! Nor I, in my day. What other coin do we have, Galyan? We have no wealth to obtain our desires. We have no status or influence to barter. We have only the power of pleasing, and from what I know of your past, you've called in your own share of favors. So, a little less condemnation on your part, if you will."

"I've never stooped to extortion," Galyan said, but without conviction. "Although that may be because I have never wanted anything badly enough. Anything I could have, at any rate. But I am surprised at the Knight-Commander's naivete."

"He was a lonely man. I fail to see how that made him stupid."

"He wanted to gain the mages' trust, so he decided that the best way to do that was to prove that he lusted after them? How was that supposed to work?"

"This is conjecture on my part, but I believe that she made him think she was developing feelings for him. It isn't hard to imagine the rest."

"No, I suppose not," Galyan said, ending his sentence with a gasp as a shift in position caused the bedding that adhered to his back to pull away.

"Forgive me," Edmonde said. "You're obviously in pain. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Apart from sending up a meal?"

"You can get these flaming blankets off me," Galyan said. "I'm roasting alive!"

"I'm not sure that's wise. You feel warm because of your injuries, but it's really quite cool in here."

"I'll risk it," Galyan said, kicking the blankets down himself. "They're sticking in the scabs. Besides, it would please the Lord Seeker if I died of a cold."

"But it would not please me. You jest, but I don't think you know how much danger you were in. If Lambert had his way, your apprentices would have watched your beheading."

"Saved again by my healing, right?" Galyan asked bitterly. "That's all anybody wants me for, these days."

"Be grateful. I had to talk very quickly to get Lambert to agree to a flogging."

"I know, Edmonde," he said, briefly covering the older man's hand with his own. "You know I make light where my feeling runs deepest. And life is not so miserable that I'm ready to quit it just yet."

"I thought for a moment that you had," Edmonde said. "What happened to you at the end? You were utterly limp, not even flinching when the whip struck."

"I don't know. I don't think I fainted. I was aware of my surroundings - the whip, the apprentices crying, the Lord Seeker telling everyone to go to dinner - I just didn't feel pain anymore."

"How peculiar. I would suggest that this phenomenon might make an interesting study now that you no longer have staff to administer, but I would never subject you to the empirical process."

"You're not even letting me manage the enchanters anymore?"

"You needn't pretend you're going to miss that part."

"I appreciate your visit, Edmonde. It's been a long time since we've had a chance to talk."

"It has, hasn't it? But this is more than a social call. I need to talk to the three of you, preferably together. Where's Alte?"

"In the chantry with Gabriel. Is there really no way to save that boy?"

"I'm afraid not," Edmonde said sadly. "If he could cast one spell, I could spare him, but as it stands..."

"Maybe he just needs more time," Galyan said. "You know that some mages come into their power later than others. I was almost fourteen before I found out."

"But magic never manifests after puberty. Gabriel is twenty-one years old, even if he doesn't look it.."

"If you want to split hairs, his magic has already manifested itself. He just can't direct his potential."

"He never had much potential to begin with. If he weren't a mage-blooded ward of the Chantry, he would never have come to us. He would have lived the rest of his days as a farmer or a smith and raised a brood of beautiful, loving children. It's tragic, really."

"He was a ward of the Chantry? I didn't know that."

"His mother was a mage," Edmonde said. "The Reverend Mother found out and watched him obsessively until she caught him singing the eyebrows of a bully who was beating him."

"That counts as a spell, if I'm not mistaken," Galyan said. "If he could use fire spells then, he can use fire spells now."

"There are fire spells and there are fire spells, as you should know. From what I understand, Gabriel was on the verge of losing consciousness when he struck back."

"And the reverend mother did not intervene until he used magic?" Galyan sighed. "It's probably a good thing he was able to do that much. She probably would have let the other boy beat him to death otherwise. Although, it does explain why he's so hesitant to push himself. If he was raised to fear magic, he might be blocking his ability himself."

"I'm not sure. In terms of raw ability, not all mages are equal in power."

"But we're lumped together in Circles all the same. I'm not finding fault with the system. The Circles are necessary both for training and for communication. I do think children should spend longer with their families, though."

"Their families can't keep them safe, Galyan," Edmonde said tiredly. It was an old, familiar argument, the only one the two men ever had.

"Neither can we," Galyan said emphatically. "How many apprentices have we lost in the last year alone? And that's only the ones I know about."

"What, you don't believe there's a ghost stalking the corridors, murdering young mages in their beds?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I've followed the dying across the Fade. I know the kind of magic it takes to bring them back. No spirit, mortal or Fade, could make the journey unaided."

"Perhaps you know better than me. But that raises another point. Without the Circle, who would have trained your abilities? Who would have shaped your values and taught you to use your gifts responsibly?"

"You know as well as I do that no apprentice begins training in earnest until they're a bit older. Even if we wanted six year olds hurling fireballs in the corridors, their concentration is too unfocused to manage more than simple, emotion-fueled outbursts. As for shaping my values, I learned that at home. I was nearly a man when I came here."

"You were an awkward child, as I recall," Edmonde quibbled. "All knees and elbows, and pursued by the sound of breaking pottery."

"Well, I thought I was grown, anyway," Galyan conceded. "But that isn't the point. You know the reason I never struggled with my gift the way some apprentices do. I accepted it because it was part of who I was. I learned that from my parents. They loved me my whole life, without condition or doubt. As mentors, we strive to treat our apprentices as if they were our children, but I'd be lying if I said that was always the case. In time, we learn to love them, but at first, it's a chore."

"Would fatherhood be so different?" Edmonde asked. "I don't speak from personal experience, but I imagine many new parents would say the same. The only difference is that natural parents learn to love them earlier."

"And then the templars come along and break that bond forever. The child feels alone, abandoned. And they find themselves surrounded by strangers who don't even know them, let alone care about them, and they're passed off to mentor after mentor until they find one who can accept them. You mentioned Evard before. Of course he has difficulty empathizing with others. He's twelve years old, but he's already had four different mentors. That's four times he's been cast off and rejected. He feels betrayed, worthless. Why should he care about other people when nobody cares about him?"

"You do. At least I did something right, assigning him to you."

"Now, I care, yes. At first, I wanted to wring his skinny little neck. But, after a few weeks of flailing and angry words on both sides, we settled into a routine. Just knowing that I wasn't going to foist him off on someone else the moment I lost my temper made a huge difference in his behavior."

"You lost your temper? I don't believe it!"

"He put oil of vitriol in my chamber pot," Galyan said. "I didn't find out until I pissed in it. There was acid everywhere, and a gaggle of apprentice boys in the corridor waiting to catch me with my pants down."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Edmonde demanded.

"Telling you would have undermined everything I was trying to do with him. He had to know that he and I have an unbreakable bond. I wasn't badly burned, and I made him replace the floorboards himself. I wanted him to understand that his behavior was as much my responsibility as his. I was angry, though. With the language I was using, I'm surprised no one reported me."

"My word! Just when I think I know what goes on in my own Circle! Have there been any other incidents?"

"What kind of incidents?" Elanie asked, reclaiming her place on the bed and reaching for the basin of brine.

"Apprentice issues," Edmonde explained. "Galyan was just telling me how the apprentices should stay at home until they reach puberty."

"All in favor, say 'Aye'!" Alte exclaimed from the corridor, raising his hand enthusiastically.

"You're awfully cheerful!" Edmonde said, noting Alte's grin. "Come in and shut the door... for whatever that's worth."

Elanie began stroking Galyan's back again with the brine-soaked sponge. He flinched, but refrained from telling her to stop. She was doing all she possibly could to help him.

"Gabriel's got Liranis's gift!" Alte said triumphantly. "He's actually quite good at it."

The First Enchanter's face fell.

"You were never to speak of that to anyone," he said sternly, though his eyes were sad.

"What?" Alte said, his elation waning. "You wanted him to cast a spell. I think this more than qualifies!"

"No, it doesn't," Edmonde said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It only makes things worse."

"What in the name of Andraste are you talking about?" Elanie asked.

"Nothing that concerns you," Edmonde said quickly.

"Keeping secrets, old friend?" Galyan asked more gently.

"Yes, but only out of necessity," Edmonde said. "I am forbidden to say more, and so is Alte. He should never have exposed his apprentice to it."

"No," Alte said flatly, anger rising in his cheeks. "Silence will condemn that boy to a fate worse than death. I will not allow it!"

"You must." Edmonde's voice held the hint of iron.

"After everything I have been through with that boy," Alte raged, "all the pain we've both endured, I'm not going to let you make him Tranquil now that he's done what you wanted. He undergoes his Harrowing, and he does so tonight!"

For a moment, no one spoke. First Enchanter Edmonde rose slowly from the bed and reached out to take Alte by both elbows.

"I feel your pain, Alte," he said quietly enough to be almost inaudible. "I really do. No one regrets this more than me, but I cannot give you what you want. I have the future of this Circle to think about. Look what they did to Galyan! Can you imagine how Lord Seeker Lambert would react to the discovery that we're keeping secrets? They'd claim we were conspiring against the Chantry! They'd Annul the Circle at once. I would be dead, the three of you would be dead, along with your apprentices. Liranis might be spared, but only until they could torture her secrets out of her. And it would not stop there. Would the White Spire become another Kirkwall? The carnage would never end."

"So, my apprentice must be sacrificed because you made a mistake?" Alte hissed, unmollified. "Would you force your own apprentice to submit to the Rite? Assuming you had any, of course."

"They're all my apprentices, Alte," he said. "I have watched the life go out of the eyes of every mage who has been made Tranquil by this Circle, and I have not turned away. I will be there for Gabriel, too, and another piece of me will die with his emotions."

"When?" Alte asked, defeated.

"Tonight."

"So soon? Without so much as a chance to say goodbye?"

"Would it be easier for either of you?" the First Enchanter asked. "You're too honest to deceive the boy. If I let you leave here knowing what will happen, you will not lie to him. I am sorry, Alte. I wish it did not have to be this way."

"Will you allow me to attend the Rite? I want him to know who betrayed him. I should have told you he cast the biggest fireball I'd ever seen."

"Ordinarily, I would attempt to discourage you. It will not be pleasant to watch. But I doubt you will be satisfied unless you suffer with him - or for him, as the case may be, since the Rite is not painful. I will allow it, provided you give your oath that you will say nothing of what you see, to Elanie, Galyan, or anyone else."

"I swear I will say nothing to anyone of what I will see," Alte said.

"Very well," the First Enchanter sighed. "Come to the Harrowing chamber after midnight. You two, please do him the kindness of not asking questions."

"Understood," Galyan said softly while Elanie said, "Of course."

Alte sank to the floor in the corner of the room and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook. For several moments, the only sound in the room was his ragged breathing as he tried and failed to get his emotions under control.

"There was something else you wanted to talk about, First Enchanter?" Elanie said carefully, no doubt attempting to draw attention away from Alte's misery without being dismissive about it..

"Perhaps it would be better to wait," Edmonde said, gazing with sympathy at Alte. "I should let you nurse your wounds in peace. Both of you."

He left, leaving the three of them to comfort each other as well as they were able. Elanie stopped tending Galyan so she could sit on the floor beside Alte and put her arms around him. At first, he shrank from her as if unwilling to let her comfort him, but a moment later, he surrendered, returning her embrace and burying his face in her thick, ink-black hair.

Galyan said nothing. It was a lover's prerogative to console her beloved, and he had no right to intrude. His turn would come later, after Alte returned from the ritual. Alte would need an outlet for his rage, frustration, and hopelessness, and that role was better suited to a friend.


	9. Chapter 9: Conspirator

Despite the lethargy of a full belly, Galyan forced himself to stay awake until Alte's return from the Harrowing chamber. He used his own pain to keep him wakeful, sitting up in bed and lying down again until the blood flowed and flecks of light swam before his eyes. He would have to get down to the baths soon - and send all his garments and bed linens to the laundry - because Elanie had been right about the risk of infection. The lacerations he sustained were shallow, for the most part, only penetrating to the muscle in a few places, but there were many of them, and his recovery depended on good hygiene. But the baths would have to wait until the morning. Alte had always been there for him. Failure to return his loyalty now would be unforgivable.

So, Galyan waited for the sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor, then the opening and slamming of a door. He forced himself out of bed, stifling a gasp as the movement reopened his wounds, and went to Alte's room.

His friend was inside on his hands and knees, vomiting onto the floor. When he was done, he crawled to the bed and threw himself onto it, hugging his knees and shaking.

Galyan covered the puddle of bile with a towel from the foot of the bed and poured him a tumbler of water. He eased himself to the floor, unwilling to stain a second set of linens with his blood. He leaned his head against the mattress and waited for Alte's breathing to slow.

"It's done, Galyan," Alte said at last. "He's gone."

"At least you were there for him," Galyan said softly.

"I was there... I don't know. I thought I was doing it for him, but I might have just made it worse. He thought he was there for his Harrowing. He was terrified, shaking. I took his hands and the Lord Seeker... I can't tell you."

"No, I know. I'm here to listen, but I won't ask you to betray secrets."

He drew a shuddering breath and let it out through his mouth, then reached for the water Galyan held out to him.

"I saw it, Galyan, the exact moment his connection to the Fade was cut. One moment, he was sick with fear, the next, nothing. His face was as blank, as devoid of everything that makes us human as any other Tranquil. They never even told him what they were doing to him. I thought I could bear it."

"You did bear it," Galyan said. "I always said you're a braver man than I."

"Brave? No. I ran just as soon as I could get away. I pushed the Lord Seeker out of the way - Maker knows what he'll do to me for that little insult - and I came here. There's my courage, on the floor."

"You were distraught. Anyone would be."

"I failed him," Alte said.

"You didn't," Galyan insisted. "You did everything you possibly could for him. You championed him when everybody else had given him up as lost. Everyone in this tower may have failed him, but not you."

"The worst part is the senselessness of it," Alte sighed. "He was made Tranquil over politics. Gabriel! The least politically-minded man that ever lived."

"Dark days, old friend," Galyan said. "We used to think it would be easy."

"I remember," Alte said, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "We'd lie in our bunks and dream about what we'd do when we made Senior and got to choose our own research projects. You were going to invent a way to stop time."

"You were... I don't remember what you were going to do."

"I'll give you a hint." A trace of a smile appeared on Alte's lips. "It involved fireballs."

"Now I remember!" Galyan chuckled. "It's probably just as well neither one of us succeeded."

"In retrospect, I think your idea has merit. I don't think either of us anticipated this."

For a moment, Galyan was on the verge of consoling Alte with the reminder that he he had yet to know the agony of having an apprentice _fail_ his Harrowing, an ordeal Galyan had endured twice, but he refrained. No one has ever found comfort in the knowledge that their suffering could be worse. He settled for, "We didn't anticipate a lot of things."

Alte lay back on the bed and draped his arm across his eyes.

"There's wine in the footlocker," he told Galyan. "Get it, will you?"

Galyan rose laboriously to his feet and bent to retrieve the requested bottle, groaning involuntarily at the pain the movement cost him.

"Maker's Breath, Galyan, I forgot!" Alte exclaimed, springing from the bed and supporting Galyan's elbow. "Why didn't you tell me to get it my lazy-ass self? And why are you even out of bed?"

"I should have thought that would be obvious," Galyan said. "Although, if you're willing to continue our discussion in my room, I won't complain."

Alte agreed readily, bringing another flask of wine for good measure. He was just showing Galyan how to drink from a cup while supine, turning his head and making a seal between the rim and the side of his mouth, when the First Enchanter walked in.

"Good gracious!" Edmonde clucked. "Is there anything you two won't do in pursuit of inebriation?"

"I won't blow the Lord Seeker," Galyan said once the cup was removed from his lips.

"I might," Alte lied, "but only if he bought the drinks."

"Speaking of which," said the First Enchanter as he sat on the end of the bed and helped himself to the bottle, "where are you getting all this wine? We've been rationing it by the thimble-full for months."

"I've been tutoring the daughter of one of the laundry maids," Alte said. "The child stands a much better chance of making a life for herself if she learns how to read and write."

"Ah," Edmonde said before passing the wine back to Alte. "I think I know which one you mean. I won't try to stop you, nor will I punish the mother for stealing wine from the stores, however low they may be, but you are doing her no kindness. As an elf, she'll never be more than a servant, with or without acumen."

"You've never heard of elven bards?" Alte asked blandly. "Attached to the right household, a clever girl can go far. And her voice is like dew-kissed violets."

"But her face is not," Edmonde said. "Alte, we have to accept the world as it is, not as we wish it would be."

"As we have daily proof," Alte said bitterly.

"Come, come," Edmonde said, shaking his head and accepting another draught from the bottle, "we have much to plan, and very few opportunities to do so without observation. Are you up for a walk to the chantry, Galyan? I've called an emergency council meeting."

"Tonight?" Alte asked. "After what you just did to my apprentice?"

"Even so," Edmonde said. "Especially so. Today has been a parade of horrors - the first day of many - and there are decisions that will wait no longer."

"You picked a bad spot for a chat," Alte said. "The chantry will be crawling with templars."

"Not tonight, it won't be," Edmonde said. "I have enlisted the aid of a... friend... to keep the inquisitive at bay. Under the circumstances, a prayer gathering in the chantry will not draw unfriendly attention, no matter the hour."

"I'm not sure I can make it," Galyan said. "I can manage the walk if I have to, but pulling a robe over my head will kill me."

"You'll have to force yourself soon," Edmonde said. "I've convinced the Lord Seeker to allow you one day to recover, but you'll be resuming your duties the day after."

"And what duties would those be?" Galyan asked. "I have four apprentices now, but that's still only half a day of private tutelage. I no longer have teaching responsibilities."

"I thought I'd give you direction of the infirmary. Aislin is a dear soul, but she deserves a rest."

"You'd kill her if you took that away from her," Galyan said."You know how jealously she guards her position."

"She's almost a patient herself!" Alte interjected. "How old is she now? Eighty?"

"No one is really sure," Edmonde said. "She was already a senior enchanter when I was Harrowed, and that was fifty years ago. And I'm not faulting her dedication. Maker knows, she's given her life to the place. But the years have taken their toll. She's becoming forgetful. Her last potions inventory was woefully short."

Galyan exchanged a pointed look with Alte before responding.

"I'll send Kerian over as an assistant," he said. "It's past time the girl took on some additional responsibility. But even if the infirmary was a good place for a man with open wounds to be, I won't usurp Aislin's authority. She has too much of her soul invested in the place."

"You can always resume your research, if you'd rather," Edmonde shot back. "Either that or brush up on your enchanting. Jeannot's betrayal deprived us of a rune-crafter. I'm sure Lord Seeker Lambert would relish the idea of you spending your days with the Tranquil."

Galyan paused, considering. It was dull work, casting spells at chips of wax-coated lyrium from daybreak to dusk, but it would allow him to see the sky twice each day, a pleasure the tower-bound library would not afford him. And while he would be required to interact with Tranquil mages, he would be able to avoid the two who caused him the most pain, which he would not be able to do in the library or the infirmary.

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea," he said. "I haven't done any enchanting in years, but I can hardly have forgotten how, and none of my apprentices have tried their hands at it. They will all have to do their stint in the rune forge sooner or later. Indeed, why not now? Janelle is too young, but the others are ready. I'd prefer to be present for their introduction to raw lyrium in any case."

"If that's your decision, so be it," Edmonde said, though his expression showed how little pleased he was by it. "I'll inform Master Dunne to expect you the day after tomorrow. Now, get up. We should have been there by now."

He and Alte helped Galyan into a loose, unbelted robe - black to hide any bloodstains - and a few moments later, they were at the doors of the tower's chantry. Galyan gazed with suspicion at a templar stationed outside, but the First Enchanter merely nodded in passing and opened the door.

A small crowd gathered near the altar. To Galyan's surprise, Elanie was among them. She rushed to help a faltering Galyan onto a bench. Ignoring the reverence due a holy place of worship, he collapsed upon it at once, lying belly-down on the stone.

"Should I offer congratulations?" he asked. The First Enchanter had been considering her promotion for more than a year, he knew, but the unstable climate within the Circle discouraged the old man from making it official. She would make a logical replacement as Senior Instructor. Better than the temperamental and impulsive Adrian… who was absent. Neither she nor Rhys were present… nor were either of the Loyalists. Had Edmonde excluded other fraternities intentionally?

"There, there," a wizened elf tutted, patting his head as if he were a mabari, "you're a brave lad, and bound to be sore for a day or two. I'll send an apprentice in the morning to help you bathe. You have to keep it clean."

"Bless you, Mistress Aislin," Galyan replied, "but the Lord Seeker was quite adamant that I don't receive help."

"What the old fool don't know won't hurt him, I always say!" she cackled, patting him again.

"That's enough, Aislin," Edmonde interrupted. "I didn't rouse you from your beds to pamper Regalyan."

The chantry grew quiet.

"I'm sure all of you are wondering why I called this vigil," Edmonde began. "First, as I'm sure all of you are aware, Alte's apprentice, Gabriel, underwent the Rite of Tranquility tonight. We all give our hearts and our spirits to the Circle, as well as our lives and our livelihood. Some of us are called to give even more. Let us bow our heads and honor the sacrifice young Gabriel has made, and commend his spirit to the Maker. When he does reach His side at last, may he know all the joy that was denied him in life."

"So may it be," Galyan recited with the others. It was an old ritual, if a brief one. Usually, it was conducted in greater privacy, with just the First Enchanter, the apprentice's mentor, and any senior enchanters who had worked closely with the apprentice, but Gabriel had been well loved, even if he had not been highly skilled. Alte would not be the only mage in the White Spire to miss his smiles. Looking up, Galyan saw Aislin embrace Alte, making comforting noises and stroking his back, which was probably as high as her arthritic arms would reach. Sadness washed over him as he realized how frail his former mentor had become. She was already as gnarled as old tree roots when Galyan had been given to her for training, and just as tough, but no mentor could have been more supportive. She was no Spirit Healer, but her wise, gentle gaze taught him more of compassion than any of the specialists who lectured him.

"Before we go," Edmonde spoke again, "there is another matter that requires our attention. And absolute secrecy. We have all seen firsthand how discipline will be enforced going forward, so if any among us has even the slightest hesitation, I encourage them to leave now without judgment or censure. I will make no attempt to shield a willing listener, but neither will I allow anyone to hear anything that might cause them discomfort at a later date."

Rhodin, the fastidious keeper of the tower stores, excused himself. Edmonde nodded his serene acceptance and gestured toward the door. The man was dependable to a fault, but he was not a political creature. Given his devotion, Galyan could not blame him for not wishing to hear something he might be tempted to report later. Self-awareness was a virtue.

Erenia, the Senior Librarian, moved to follow him, but the First Enchanter stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Not you, my friend," Edmonde said. "I know you well enough to know that nothing would tempt you to betray another's confidence, and I can't do without your conscience."

"Oh no," she said, the Dalish tattoos around her eyes crinkling with annoyance. "I know that look. We can't beat them, Edmonde. We can only hope to survive."

"And that's just what we won't do if we walk away now," he said. "We're at a crossroads, my brothers and sisters. Every day, the templars find new ways to teach us submission. You all remember how Rhys was led through the commons this morning. He's in detention right now, in the dungeon, and it does not look as if I will be able to secure his release any time soon."

"The dungeon!" Galyan exclaimed. "What could he have done that would land him there?"

"I am not at liberty to say," Edmonde replied. "But if you meditate on the 'crimes' that placed you at the whipping post, you may make safe assumptions about the severity of his. There is a kind of justice to the Lord Seeker's judgments, harsh as they may be. Regalyan's actions defied our Lady's Rule, or some draconian interpretation of it, so his punishment was immediate and public. Rhys defied with his silence - or his failure to damn himself with agreeable lies - so he is condemned to endure solitude unless he speaks words that are pleasing to the right ears."

"So, you're telling us poor Galyan deserved to be whipped bloody?" Aislin snapped.

"No," Edmonde sighed. "This isn't a simple question of right and wrong. Technically, Galyan did break the law, even if it was merely an intellectual exercise, but that isn't the point. We've lost the ability to govern ourselves. I can't pretend that what happened at Dairsmuid - what happened at Kirkwall - won't happen here. Any of us can be taken. Our Circle might be Annulled at any moment. We need to decide. If the worst comes, will we stay and die or will we run?"

"Run where?" Alte asked with frustration. "We can't all go to Ferelden!"

"No, that obviously isn't the answer," Edmonde said. "Ferelden is kinder to mages than many lands, but it's still an Andrastian nation. No sovereign there will deliberately contradict the will of the Divine. But there is one place we might go. It's a fortress, run down and overgrown, but it is defensible, and we might shelter there quite comfortably while we investigate other options."

"The Abyssal Rift?" Erenia scoffed. "The darkspawn would pick us off one by one, assuming that any of us survived the southern winter. Somewhere else? Andoral's Reach is a nice enough ruin, I suppose, and it makes a much better alternative, but we live in a bloody tower! We can't jump out a window and drift there by holding a blanket over our heads!"

"We live in a tower built atop an ancient network of tunnels," Edmonde said. "Half the privies on the lower levels empty directly into the city sewers."

"You want us to climb down a privy shaft?" Aislin snorted. "Some days, I can't even manage the stairs."

"I'll carry you, Mistress," Galyan said.

"The Void with that!" she retorted. "You'll be needing that savage apprentice of yours to carry you, the shape you're in!"

"I do not anticipate an immediate need to flee," Edmonde said, "but that does demonstrate the necessity of planning. If we're going to escape, we need a plan that will allow as many able-bodied mages as possible to survive, but we need a solution that doesn't involve feats of dexterity or strength."

"The sewers are accessible from the lower levels," Alte said. "The exits are concealed and some have been deliberately blocked with furniture or masonry, but they do exist."

"A legacy of your colorful past?" Edmonde smiled. "How many are there? Do you know them all?"

"I don't know," Alte admitted. "And what knowledge I have, I came by legitimately. Remember that time you had me sort out the giant spiders in the laundry? I found the first access door when I was trying to figure out how to keep more from getting in, and that made me curious about finding others. There are exits on the kitchen level, the laundry, and the stores. There are probably exits on the dungeon levels, too, but I haven't made a comprehensive survey of those."

"We're fortunate you were so thorough," Edmonde remarked. "Can you draw a map from memory?"

"Possibly not, but I could refresh my memory without being conspicuous. If anyone asks why I'm poking around the cellars, I could say that I'm investigating a corpse beetle infestation and mark sewer entrances as 'hives' on a map."

"Brilliant," the First Enchanter approved, "but how would we disseminate the information? You can't lead us out en masse."

"We're all seniors here, or close enough," Alte said. "Each of us is responsible for some area of Circle life. Aislin runs the infirmary, Erenia's mistress of the library, Gervais is the resident botanist, and so on. Every one of us uses diagrams or charts for something, and these could be stylized representations of the sewer entrance in relation to some nearby reference point. Insert the drawings in notes about something relevant to the mage's area of expertise, and the entire Circle could be in on the secret without any templar being the wiser. Except for the one outside the door. Who is that, by the way?"

"It's Liranis," the First Enchanter said sheepishly. "She has a talent for deception, and all armor looks the same. But I do like your plan! Once you're done surveying the lower levels, you could pass the information along to the other senior enchanters and let them pass it along to their reports."

"And wait for the Loyalists to blab to the templars?" Aislin asked.

"We're going to have to use discretion about who we tell," Edmonde said. "Obviously, some of our brethren cannot find out, but I think we know who we can trust. Sadly, it would probably be better if some remained behind, in any case."

"What about the apprentices?" Elanie asked. "We can't ask the children to navigate the sewers on their own, and if there is an Annulment, you know they'll be crawling with templars. It doesn't matter how many of us escape. If the apprentices die, so does the Circle."

"Make the enchanters responsible for their own apprentices," Alte suggested. "Have them pair up with another adult. That way, once they're out of the sewers, they can pose as a traveling family. I suppose we'll have to steal clothing that doesn't have the Circle insignia on it, but it shouldn't be too difficult."

"My apprentice is an elf," Gervais said. "No one would believe that he's my son."

"But they would believe he's your servant," Alte said. "We're going to have to improvise on the details, but the main thing is that we know how to find the door."

"How big are the groups supposed to be?" Galyan asked. "I've got four apprentices. If I pair up with another enchanter, that would make for a very large family."

"You could pose as a widower," Elanie shrugged.

"We'll leave the details for later," Edmonde said. "Once Alte has his maps, I'll meet with each of you privately. If there's nothing else, we should probably return to our beds. It would be a shame to spoil our ruse with the seeming of too much piety."


	10. Chapter 10: Mentor

Galyan cried out as the blankets were torn from his back. The pain blinded him for a few heartbeats even as some detached, analytical part of his brain advised him that it should not hurt this much.

"Sluggard," a sensuous voice said.

Twisting to view the speaker hurt almost as much as waking up, but he attempted it. How had he failed to recognize Liranis's voice? Or perhaps it was not too surprising that he did not. Most of his exposure to her came second-hand through Alte, apart from that one, regrettable night when he joined her in Alte's bed.

"You've slept through Chapter," she informed him. "Breakfast, too. No wonder they whipped you. The liberty the First Enchanter allows you seniors is entirely inexcusable. You think you can do anything."

"I know," Galyan rallied. Now that the initial insult to abused tissue was past, his pain had faded to a manageable level and he had recovered some measure of his wit. "If this continues, we may one day enjoy half the freedoms that you possess."

"Unlike you, I earned every scrap," she snapped.

"On your back, the way I hear it."

"How judgmental of you!" she sneered, but her voice held cold amusement rather than derision. "And ironic. You've opened your robe more often than I have, but then it's never granted your desires. If my mother were as wealthy as yours, I'd have done a much better job of it. Unless ineptitude is the consequence of having someone pay your way through the ranks."

"Did you really wake me up to insult my mother?" Galyan asked, flexing his shoulders tentatively and gauging the effect. The pain there was no worse than he anticipated, the healthy burn of healing skin and muscle, but the tenderness in his lower back was another matter. There, the slightest movement caused a sharp, sick-feeling twinge that sent waves of heat and nausea through his guts and reminded him that he should waste no time in getting himself to the baths, if it was not already too late. He wished he had allowed Elanie to accompany him back to his quarters after their late-night assembly as she had offered. At the time, he protested on grounds that the sting of brine would make him wakeful, but with both magical and medical healing denied him, he was forced to admit that his priorities may have been misplaced.

"I woke you to see what the loss of everything I value was worth to you," she said. "Everything I have worked my whole life to achieve."

"Yes, Liranis," he sighed in exasperation, "my sole ambition was to deprive you of your comforts."

"I'm going to tell you a little story, Senior D'Marcall," she said, her voice a purr. "I was brought to the Circle in pain, much as you are now, just like every other apprentice who doesn't have parents rich enough to bribe the templars. Not that my father would have, even if he could. He blamed me for killing my mother. And my sister, although he may have had some cause for that, even if it was an accident. The first beating I endured after my 'gift' was discovered was at his hands, and the bastard enjoyed it tremendously. He was hard as a plank. The templars who came for me enjoyed it just as much, and there was no rule of the Maker preventing them from relieving their desires."

"Liranis…" Galyan began. He tried to roll onto his side and rise from the bed, but his muscles refused to obey him.

"Not this time, Senior D'Marcall," she said smugly. "You had no trouble holding me against my will yesterday. This morning, it's your turn."

"How -"

"You'll see in time," she said. "You've heard this part of the story before. It's an experience shared by most of the girls you teach. Or taught, I should say. It begins in pain, but eventually, it does get better. Or perhaps we become inured to it."

The ache in his back subsided to a dull, warm heaviness, then faded entirely. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he was completely free of pain.

"We settle into a routine, and the matron nurses our bruises and gives us salve to cure the diseases the templars inflicted on us. We grow to trust her, almost to love her. She makes us feel safe."

A warm, sleepy lethargy stole over him. Perhaps he could have moved if he wanted to, but for the moment, he was too comfortable to try.

"And then we learn we must have a mentor," Liranis said. "Mine was a strong, powerful man much like you, privileged and accustomed to having his way. Refusal was unthinkable. Resistance was excruciating."

Galyan barely had time to gasp at the searing pain that punctuated the end of her last sentence. She had not moved from her place by the foot of his bed, but for an instant, he felt himself violated by an unseen assailant who withdrew as soon as his brain registered the intrusion. Once more, he tried to rise, with no greater success.

"Liranis, how?" he demanded.

"Your body is engulfed by an invisible force," she said. "Call it your link to the Fade, if you wish. It's the energy that enables you to move and to perceive the world around you."

"What do you mean? You could make me get up and walk around the room? Stab someone? That sounds like blood magic!"

"Not even close," she snorted. "It's energy like fire or lightning. It might be unwise to tell you my limitations, but I could not make you walk or perform any other complex task. That requires too many minute adjustments, and I would have to fight your conscious will in order to do so. It would take blood magic. But I can interrupt the impulse to walk by creating ripples in the field, blocking movement or sensation. And as for that which is outside your conscious control - your sensory perception - that I can influence."

For the briefest moment, Alte stood before him, his formal red senior enchanter's robe vivid against the bare stone wall. An instant later, Liranis was back, dressed as she had been in the grey work robe of a Circle mage.

"I could have bathed your body in flames," she said, "You would have seen them and felt them, but they wouldn't have scarred you, so what's the point? But hush. I came here for a reason, and we have barely touched upon it. Relax. The experience need not be entirely unpleasant."

Warm hands crept up his thighs then dipped between them. He had been lying with his legs together, but that seemed to make no difference, as the hands were no more corporeal than the phallus had been. He attempted to retreat from them, to steel himself against all touch, but he lay still and unmoving, even as gentle fingers glided over his scrotum and encircled him.

"In time, I learned to enjoy my captivity, or parts of it," she said in a conversational voice as ghostly hands teased his genitals. "My master's pride demanded that he should leave women gasping with pleasure. Or girls, in my case. I learned to enjoy the feel of his tongue and his fingers… and more."

He tried to remain indifferent to the stroking, but he was not immune to it. He wanted to remain flaccid and uncaring, but with resistance denied him, his body responded, to his shame. The feather-touch of an unseen fingertip between his buttocks only made it worse.

"Please, don't," he groaned. "I get the idea."

"I don't think you do," she said candidly. "I hated him, hated what he did to me… but I begged him to do it."

Her ministrations intensified. His spirit screamed in protest at the assault, but he was powerless to articulate it even as he was revolted and titilated by turns. Mute and immobilized as he was, he began to wish she would just finish him and let it end, but she did not. Not yet. Not until she had described every thrill she had experienced at her master's hands, and every humiliation she had endured at his command, all uttered in that velvet voice that stroked his mind and lulled him into listening with his balls instead of his brain. Abruptly, she withdrew.

"And I survived," she said. "No one would save me. No one cares if an apprentice is abused. If I could not escape it, I would learn from it. And I have, as you can see."

She allowed him a grunt of acknowledgement. Poised between shame and disgust, he understood.

"He delayed my Harrowing as long as he could," she said, "keeping me as his servant and his slave, but he could not prevent it entirely. We returned to Val Royeaux, and I was Harrowed. He requested that I be assigned permanently to his staff - no doubt to prevent me from telling others what he had done to me - but sadly, the night of my Harrowing was his last. He suffered a most inconvenient accident that morning, and I was free. Finally."

"You did not need to stick your finger up my ass to tell me that you had a bad mentor," Galyan said, praying the ordeal was over.

"He was not a kind mentor," she replied, "but I did learn from him. And I vowed to use that knowledge to free myself from the Circle. It was not easy."

"Is that why you seduced Knight-Commander Eron?"

"Isn't it obvious? At the time, the templars still cared about maintaining the illusion of propriety. A mage-born bastard would have ruined him. So, when I gave him my terms, he was only too happy to accept them. Jader is a long way from Val Royeaux, and with the right incentive, the templars allow me to come and go as I please."

"Incentive such as you inflicted on me?" he asked.

"It's simpler to raise my skirts and let them get on with it," she shrugged. "They're vile, but a cage is worse."

"And now, you're trapped here where the templars take what they want and don't offer rewards in return."

"I sacrificed everything to achieve what I did!" she retorted. "That bastard I bore tore me apart. But that isn't the true price. My freedom cost me my dignity, my self-respect. Do you think I don't know what the other mages whisper behind my back? Do you think I don't know why I've never been offered an enchanters hood, or apprentices of my own? And after everything I've suffered, with one thoughtless deed done by you, all I have built crumbles to dust. They call you a hero for standing up to Lambert, but I know you're a fraud. You're nothing more than a puppet, blinded by your own arrogance and conceit. I hope you enjoyed your moment of glory, because it's long past time you paid for what you did."

In the space between one breath and the next, Galyan's pain returned. All of it. He writhed in agony, screaming.

"Master!" cried a female voice from the corridor. The door opened and Kerian was beside him, spilling an armload of bandages across the bed and smoothing his hair from his eyes. "What happened? Can you speak?"

He forced his breathing to slow. He felt the girl's consciousness at the edge of his own, reaching out to him to assess his condition as she had been trained to do.

"It's alright," he said between clenched teeth. He tried to twitch the blanket over his exposed body, but he was having enough trouble remaining conscious.

"Are you ill?" she asked in concern, then gasped as she noticed Liranis. "Oh! Forgive me! I did not realize..."

"Do not trouble yourself, girl," Liranis said. "I was just leaving."

"Wait!" Galyan halted her. "Was that you, blocking the pain?"

"Of course," Liranis said. "Or did you mean yesterday, when they were beating you? That was me, too. They would have halted the exercise if you'd passed out. We couldn't have that, now, could we? Sixty lashes delivered in one session is much more effective than forty one week and twenty the next, don't you think?"

With that, she left, closing the door behind her.

"Master Regalyan?" Kerian asked tentatively. "What was she doing to you? Did I… interrupt?"

"Please don't ask me to explain," he said. For a moment, he feared that he was naked, but to his relief, he found that he still wore the bloodstained small clothes he had been wearing the night before. "I'm not sure I can."

"No, of course," the girl said, though her voice was hesitant. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You can wait in the corridor while I dress," he said with greater confidence. Kerian was nineteen, nearly ready for her own Harrowing, and unlikely to be traumatized by his state of undress, but she had approached him as a healer approaches a patient, not as an apprentice approaches her mentor. It had been disorienting.

"Senior Aislin sent me," Kerian said. "She noticed you weren't at breakfast and ordered me to help you to the baths."

"There's nothing wrong with my legs," he said.

"I know," his apprentice said briskly, "but her orders were very specific. She thinks you'll put it off and go back to work… which you may, if I can't prevent it. I have another message, from the Lord Seeker's assistant. He has reconsidered your requested furlough, and instructs you to report to your new duties without delay."

"I see. And how am I to reconcile these contradictory commands?"

"Master, you really do need to go to the baths," she said, biting her lower lip. "Some of the lacerations are very inflamed. And there's an odd smell in the room. I'm afraid the wounds are turning."

"Or it could be the fact that I haven't had a bath in three days," Galyan said. "I would like nothing better than to obey Mistress Aislin - by myself! - but the thought of disobeying the Lord Seeker…"

"Maybe you can do both?" Kerian suggested. "It will be easier if I help you. I'm your apprentice. That's what I'm supposed to do."

"You're supposed to learn magic!" he corrected her. "And you're supposed to respect your mentor. That does not involve standing around while he's wallowing in his small clothes. If you wish to be helpful, go next door to Senior Erenia's room and beg the use of her wash basin. Mine seems to have met with an accident. And fetch me some clothing from the wardrobe."

Galyan was able to regain more of his composure while she was gone. The pain was still present and still severe, but it was a steady ache, and he was rapidly becoming accustomed to it. That must have been part of Liranis's plan, to torture him by taking the pain away, distracting him until he had forgotten how bad it had been, and then restoring it in full force. Not that she had not enjoyed his frustration at being coaxed to a state of arousal against his will. Thank the Maker Kerian had not arrived earlier! As awkward as her timing had been, it could have been worse. He would never have been able to look her in the eye again.

"You must allow me to wash and bandage the wounds, at least," she said when she returned. "Senior Aislin would be cross with me if I didn't do that much. And she'd be furious with you. Are you that eager to face her wrath?"

"Very well," Galyan conceded with partially-feigned reluctance. He had to smile at her competence. She bullied him into compliance like a true healer.

He felt a different kind of pang at the prospect of losing her as an apprentice, but all children grow up sooner or later. He might as well take pride in the knowledge of how far she had surpassed him as a mage. Even if he had been unable to unlock her potential for spirit-assisted healing, her competence in every other school exceeded his own by a wide margin. Her inability to summon spirits at will to aid her healing was all that prevented her from taking her Harrowing. She could direct the healing energy of the spirit Galyan summoned, so the potential was there, but she had never been able to call one from the Fade herself. Until she could, her apprenticeship would remain incomplete.

Wordlessly, she heated the water in the basin with magic and bathed his back with a clean rag. He winced and muttered at the sting, but for the most part, it was a good, healthy pain… except when her ministrations reached his lower back. They had flogged him bent over a barrel for the sole purpose of stretching his skin taut to maximize the pain, and as a consequence, the damage, but that area was not subject to the stretching and strain that his shoulders received in the course of normal motion. Unable to drain, the wounds festered.

"I don't think soap and hot water will help this part," she agreed with his mental assessment. "Senior Aislin gave me a salve -"

"Which we are forbidden to use," he said firmly. "Loathe as I am to disobey my former mentor, I must."

"She only wants what's best for you, ser," Kerian said.

"Just as I want what's best for you," Galyan said. "The Lord Seeker promised retaliation against any who offer healing beyond that which the Maker bestows. I will not expose either of you to the risk."

"The Maker gave us magic. And He put plants in our garden which aid mundane healing. The Maker never commanded us to be stupid. And to be honest, I'm not even sure this salve will work if the infection is already established."

"Then there's no point in risking it. There's brine in a bucket by the foot of the bed. Give me a dose of that and then go. I need to get dressed."

"I can help you…" she began.

"I'll call you if I need you."

He stifled a howl as she applied the brine-soaked sponge to his back, then stood at her command so she could wrap the bandages around his torso. Her touch was gentle and businesslike, but he closed his eyes and envisioned his elderly mentor treating him to avoid the recurrence of his earlier embarrassment.

"Master Regalyan, you must allow -"

"I must allow you to wait in the corridor. I need to change."

"I've seen naked men before," she said, then hastily added, "I've been working in the infirmary for three years."

"That isn't the point. Now go."

Thankfully, she obeyed. He dressed clumsily, but quickly, and fretted over Kerian's maturity. She was respectful - as respectful as he was to Aislin - but she was becoming more independent. She acknowledged his masculinity and empathized with his reluctance to let her treat him, but she was becoming professional enough to insist. He grew more proud of her every day.

"Are the others at their lessons?" he asked her once he joined her in the corridor.

"Evard is, and Janelle," she replied. "I didn't know you got a new apprentice. I didn't think healing manifested so young."

"It doesn't," he smiled. "But I've never been assigned apprentices because of my magical prowess. You're my last healer, my girl."

"Stephanie can heal."

"Stephanie would rather stave in heads!" he laughed. "Did you know the matron found a sword in her bed?"

"I'm the one who told her," Kerian informed him as they walked toward the commons.

"Oh, I bet she loved you for that! I should see if I can get her some training with the templars or something. Maybe if I indulge her passion for swordplay, she'll pay more attention to her lessons."

"Or maybe she'll run you through and escape to join the army," Kerian seemed nonplussed. "She's dangerous, ser."

"She's energetic, and she enjoys baiting you. I had three older sisters. They do that."

"Stephanie is not my sister."

"She might as well be," Galyan said, thinking of their escape plan. "The five of us are the only family we have."

"Have you forgotten how _her_ 'sister' tried to kill you?" Kerian retorted. "If Senior Alte hadn't left his cloak in your room…"

"And she will never hurt anyone again," he said sadly. "Adelais is Tranquil now, Kerian. And she mustn't be blamed for her actions, however terrible they seem to you. Nor should you blame Stephanie for her anger. I never told you about their past -"

"I know, ser," she interrupted him, then went crisply, "everyone in the dormitory knew. Their former mentor was addicted to poppy juice, and sold them to the templars for it. They'd get pulled out of bed at all hours."

"All of you knew?" he blinked. "And none of you told the First Enchanter? And you didn't tell me? I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"What could either of you do? I tried to tell you that it was Adelais who killed Enchanter Zebin, but you didn't believe me."

"I believed you when I woke up in the infirmary. And I said I was sorry for doubting you. But Zebin _was_ addicted to poppy juice, and he did fall into stupors. We thought he overdosed or rolled over and smothered himself with his own pillow."

"And you don't think Stephanie hates being assigned to another Spirit Healer?" Kerian asked pointedly.

"She seems to be more resilient, and she knows I don't take poppy juice in my wine. And if she were going to try to kill me, she's had six years to do so. Stephanie doesn't bottle things up the way Adelais did. If she's angry with you, everyone knows. I have more to fear from Evard's pranks."

"Speaking of which, you'd better talk to him about spying on the girls' bath."

"What's this?" Galyan slowed his pace as he waited for a response. They had almost reached the courtyard between the library and the rune forge, but this seemed important.

"He hasn't been caught yet, but I know for a fact he's got a nest in the rafters of the girls' bathing room. That's why he missed staff training with Enchanter Yves."

"Oh, dear," he chuckled. "Twelve is such an awkward age. I suppose it's time to have that talk I've been dreading."

"I wish I could see it!" Kerian laughed. "'It's only natural for you to be curious about your body, and about those of your fellow apprentices, but it's important to be respectful.' That is what you're going to say, isn't it?"

"I was going to lead with threats, but that would work, too," he grinned, then grew more serious. "I thought you had responsibilities in the infirmary. Why are you following me to the rune forge?"

"You did plan to begin my novitiate here, didn't you? It's as good a time as any. Senior Aislin gave me the morning off so I could keep you company. And to make sure you don't overextend yourself."

"She never stops trying to mother me," Galyan complained. "I'm not an invalid."

"Far from it!" There was something in her voice that alarmed him. He turned to face her just in time to see a puzzling smile vanish under his scrutiny. "You're quite fit, in fact."

"Is that sarcasm I hear?" he chuckled. "Respect your elders, miss! You'll be as old and grey as me one day. We'll see how well you like it when your apprentices mock your infirmities!"

"I wasn't mocking you, ser," she said, "and you aren't old or grey… a few strands. Barely any. And it suits you."

She looked away, then said, "Look, I think the others have already arrived!"

He returned his attention to the courtyard. Evard and Stephanie were both sitting on the bench outside the squat stone structure, the former looking bored and the latter looking murderous. She rose when she saw him and strode toward them, the breeze lifting her fine, unbound hair in a halo around her face. She was fifteen years old and might have been mistaken for Kerian's sister by blood, even if her hair was brown instead of burnished auburn. Both had the same heart-shaped face, the same delicate features, the same milky complexion, and the same wide-set eyes. Evard was sturdier of build and darker of hair, but all three apprentices had eyes as green as Galyan's. It was pure coincidence, but if the time did come when they needed to pass for a family, no one would question his claim that these three were his children. Blond, cherub-faced Janelle was another matter, but he might say that she favored some hypothetical mother.

"Why aren't you two in class?" he asked.

"I got bored with sums," Evard shrugged. "And Kerian said we'd get to light swords on fire!"

"Sums are important, Evard," Galyan said sternly. "And we will not be lighting any blazes today. And you, Steph? You're supposed to be learning geography."

"I already know about the Frostbacks," Stephanie said. "And it isn't like we're ever going to go there, so why bother? It will never be more than marks on a map."

"You don't know that," Galyan said. "We're a little housebound at the moment, but 'today' is not 'forever'. You might be very sorry you never found out where Sulcher's Pass is one day."

"I'll divine it from the entrails of a templar," Stephanie snapped and sat down again.

"You were on your way to tell me something?" he prompted.

"Nothing," Stephanie said tersely.

"Senior Aislin said you were sick," Evard said eagerly, as if he were being offered the chance to view an eight-legged toad. "She said you smelled like blood and garbage."

"Mistress Aislin is rarely mistaken, but she is this time," Galyan said resolutely.

"I'll say!" Stephanie snorted. "You don't smell any worse than usual to me."

"How charming," Galyan said flatly. "I suppose it's too late to send you to rejoin your lessons, but tomorrow, I will hear no excuses. Tomorrow, we will take our noon meal together as we always do and after that, we will go to the forge, but your mornings belong to your teachers. I will not have you skiving off just because you've got something novel to do."

"But you won't send me away," Kerian said. "I've graduated from the standard curriculum."

"You will spend your mornings in the infirmary," Galyan said. "Mistress Aislin is as keen as an owl in the evenings, but the dawn shift is a trial for her. Her age and her wisdom have earned her a respite, and I want you to help her in every way that you can. You're a healer, Kerian, even if we still have some hurdles to overcome. You belong among those who need you most, and she needs some help with inventory. She isn't up to scrambling among the bales and crates anymore, so I want you to spare her the hardship and present her with a full accounting once each week."

His most senior apprentice did not look pleased.

"If you don't do it, I'll have to," he said, "and I think we both agree that the infirmary is no place for me. At least not until the wounds close."

"Very well," she sighed. "But I can come in the afternoons, can't I? I was really looking forward to learning to make runes."

"You'll regret those words," Galyan said. "By this time next week, you'll all be sick of it. But it's windy and cold out here. Let's go in."


	11. Chapter 11: Artisan

Two templars flanked the twin doors to the rune forge. As Galyan's party approached, the one on the right shifted his position to block the doorway.

"Mages are restricted to the left door," he said.

"Yes, yes," Galyan acknowledged. "I've been here before."

"Of course, senior enchanter," the templar replied civilly. "Do you plan to accompany your apprentices past this point? The overseer is out at the moment, so I cannot allow unattended apprentices to enter."

"I'll be with them today, yes," Galyan said. "This is their first day in the forge, so I thought I'd give them the tour before we begin. Is there a full house this morning?"

"You're the first to arrive," said the templar. "I've never seen the forge so deserted, but I suppose the last few days have been trying. Please be sure to explain why the right door is forbidden."

"Of course, ser templar," Galyan said, shaking his head at the courtesy they encountered. Inside the White Spire proper, it would have been unthinkable. Mages were a commodity, and gracious behavior made as much sense as bowing at the arrival of a bale of wool. In the rune forge, things were different. Here, mages made money for the Circle and the templars who guarded it. Money that bought their lyrium. Here, templars remembered why they needed to protect their charges. Few motivations were as powerful as self-interest.

"We're standing outside the rune forge," Galyan said to his apprentices. "This is where the Circle makes enchanted items, which provide the Circle with its wealth."

"Is the Circle wealthy?" Evard asked.

"I've always had enough to eat," Galyan said. "Even during times of famine, the Circle has always been able to feed itself and provide for the templars stationed here. Few communities in Orlais can say the same. We haven't had much in the way of luxuries recently, but I remember a time when adult mages had wine with every dinner, and each mage was granted an allowance to spend on excursions outside the tower." He eyed the templars warily before continuing. "Of course, civil unrest in the capital at the moment prevents us from leaving the grounds, making an allowance unnecessary, but I have every reason to believe that once things stabilize, our leaders will reevaluate the situation and act as their wisdom directs."

He was satisfied with that answer. He hoped the templars would be, too.

"The rune forge has two doors," he continued. "Mages use the left door only. Tranquil may use either, but most of the time, they use the right. There are always two or more templars here to direct you, but you should never, under any circumstances, open the right door. It leads into the lyrium smithy, and raw lyrium is deadly to those with magical talent. Both doors lead to the same place, but open on different floors. The left door opens onto a kind of gallery. Everything that happens below is visible through the gratings in the floor, so you aren't missing out on anything. There are no secrets here save recipes, and you'll be privy to those soon enough. What can you tell me about lyrium, Evard?"

"It's a metal, Master Regalyan," the boy answered. "The dwarves mine it."

"That's right," Galyan said. He did not expect a more detailed answer from a boy of twelve. "The dwarves mine it, and only dwarves or Tranquil can handle it in its raw form. They're immune to the worst of its effects, but if non-Tranquil humans or elves are exposed to it, they go mad. The dwarves of Orzammar process it into an alloy that's safer for mundanes to handle before it arrives here, but even processed lyrium will kill mages outright, so we divide the workroom into two areas to prevent mages from accidentally coming in contact with it."

"What's in lyrium to make it so poisonous," Stephanie asked.

"It isn't so much what's in it as what it is," Galyan said. "It's magic in its raw form, an unshielded channel to the Fade. Dwarves and the Tranquil have no connection to the Fade, so lyrium has less of an effect on them, but beings who are more attuned - humans and elves, and especially mages - experience a dangerous and potentially lethal reaction to it. They seem to exist between worlds, unable to differentiate between reality and the dream realm. Mages become so disconnected from either world that they die instantly. There is no cure for lyrium poisoning."

"Have you ever encountered a case of lyrium poisoning?" Kerian asked.

"Twice," Galyan said. The first time, one of the Tranquil was folding the processed ore into a rune blank - we'll observe that step in a moment - when a flaw in the ore caused a sliver to break off and fly into the woman's eye. She was Tranquil, but even they cannot tolerate direct introduction to the blood. You might think a mad Tranquil might be a curious thing to behold, but you would be wrong. She withdrew into her mind, speaking to no one and taking no food or water. She survived only four days. I did not witness the first incident personally, but I was a newly-Harrowed mage at the time and serving my first posting in the infirmary. I tended her before she slipped away. I was present at the time of the second accident. A formari mage - a craftsman of the Circle - allowed himself to become distracted and failed to secure the rune blank he was working with before striking it with the tracing. Worse luck, he failed to direct his spell properly, so the rune blank shot off the bench and went down the overseer's tunic. Rune blanks are coated in wax to prevent accidents, but the impact cracked the coating, and the overseer was exposed. He screamed once, stared into infinity for a moment and fell dead on the spot. Which is why we will exercise caution at all times and secure our work before gathering our supplies to begin. You'll see in a moment."

He placed his hand on the door latch.

"The left door opens to the galleries on the ground floor," he said. "The lyrium smithy is housed in a kind of cellar below, but the floor between them is made up of iron gratings to allow visual and verbal communication between floors. Ages ago, I'm told that the floor was wooden, but the mages who enchanted the runes were curious about what transpired in the smity. They kept trying to bypass the templars at the door to steal in and have a look around. After a few tragic accidents, it was decided that the best way to prevent more fatalities was to remove the mystery. They replaced the wooden floor with gratings, and now, nothing is hidden. It had a secondary benefit. Lyrium releases vapors while it's being worked. The Tranquil gain neither benefit nor harm from them, but to mages, it's like drinking a lyrium potion -"

"To templars, too," the chattier of the two templars interrupted. "This post may not be the warmest in the White spire, but it does have its perks."

"What use is lyrium to a templar?" Stephanie asked him.

"It gives us the ability to neutralize your magic," the templar said, then turned his helmeted head toward Galyan. "Care to give them a demonstration?"

"Ah… I'm rather out of favor with your Lord Seeker at the moment," he said. "I'm reluctant to incur his wrath through unauthorized spell-casting."

"I'm Knight-Lieutenant Vanard," the templar said. "I authorize you to create a glow sphere. For educational purposes. Why don't you set it on top of that hitching post in the yard? It's far enough away so you won't catch the backlash."

"Thank you, Knight-Lieutenant!" Galyan said, surprised at the templar's willingness to participate in non-essential communication. "I'll need all of you to keep back. Templar abilities disrupt mana. If you're caught in the area of effect, it's rather disorienting."

He conjured the glowing ball of light on the specified post, making it red so it would be more visible in the mid-morning sunlight and waited for the templar to dispel it. The templar braced himself dramatically, posing as if he were about to sprint across the yard, and thrust his gauntleted palm toward the orb of light.

"Hnnf!" the templar exclaimed. The light flared briefly before winking out of existence.

"And that's that," he said, assuming a more natural posture.

"That's it?" Evard remarked dismissively.

The templar removed his helmet and stuffed it under his arm. He was younger than Galyan expected, only few years past twenty. He was not an ugly man, exactly, but his lean face and narrow jaw gave him a rather vulpine appearance which was not offset by the shaggy ginger hair that stood out from his head in all directions. Something about his face was familiar, but Galyan could not identify what it was.

"It may not look like much," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said, "but you have to understand what you just saw: a mundane negating the spell of a powerful senior enchanter."

"Powerful?" Evard snorted. "Master 'Galyan? You must be new here!"

"That's enough out of you!" Kerian interjected, clamping a hand over Evard's mouth and pulling him away from the templar, her ivory cheeks flushed scarlet. "I'm sure he meant to thank you for the demonstration, Knight-Lieutenant."

The templar laughed, his face softening into affability.

"I am new here, as a matter of fact," he said, blushing more violently than Kerian. "Or newer than most of the templars stationed here. I came down from Kirkwall about two years ago. But I'm sure he intends no disrespect to your mentor, miss. And the spell I requested was no test of ability."

"Kirkwall, you say?" Galyan asked. "Any relation to the Hightown Vanards?"

"Y-yes, senior," he stammered, looking at his boots.

"I apologize if I've caused offense," Galyan said. "Mattie Vanard was a playmate of mine when I was a boy. I meant only to enquire after her well being."

"She's well," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said, exhaling with relief. "She is my cousin, as a matter of fact. She's married, of course, and the mother of three daughters. Forgive my evasive answer. My uncle's family suffered an unfortunate reversal of fortune recently in connection with my cousin, Mattie's youngest brother. You would probably not know him. He would have been very young indeed when you joined the Circle, if he was even born. Fortunately, Mattie was already married by that point and unaffected. Shall I give her your regards in my next letter?"

Galyan weighed that thought for a moment. He was being offered the opportunity to connect with a childhood playmate and through her, perhaps with his family, but would they welcome the contact? His mother would want to know that he was alive and healthy - he still had all his teeth, and his hair - but he was still a mage. If she had felt any shame at bearing a son with magic, she had hidden it from him, but he was sent to a Circle far removed from Kirkwall at her insistence. She said that she was trying to protect him, but in twenty-five years, she had never written to him or asked about him. She would not have forgotten her youngest child… but would she want to if she could?

"Thank you for the offer, but I should probably decline," he said. "You would not happen to know if Reyline D'Marcall is still alive, perchance? Or any others of that family?"

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the name," the templar said, his eyes drifting to Kerian's face. "My father married into a lesser house, although he may still have friends among the nobility. Shall I ask him?"

"No, thank you. Perhaps it's best to leave the past where it belongs."

"I'm cold," Evard complained.

"Thank you for the lesson, Knight-Lieutenant Vanard," Galyan said, "but I should probably take my apprentices out of the wind. We have a full day of crafting ahead, and I don't want them distracted by sniffles."

"Maker guide you," the templar said formally. He glanced once more at Kerian before lifting his helmet into its more usual position.

Galyan opened the door and ushered his apprentices into the warm darkness.

"You have an admirer," he whispered to Kerian as she passed.

"He was just being polite," she insisted. Galyan let it go. He decided that he liked this Knight-Lieutenant Vanard, but it was not a relationship he wished to encourage. The young man seemed more respectful than any templar he had met in recent years, but he would not trust him alone with the girl.

The rune forge was dark compared to the sunny brilliance of the courtyard, windowless and lit only by low oil lamps, and it took their eyes several moments to adjust. It was also oppressively hot.

They stood on a fine metal grating supported by stout wooden beams set into the stone. They could not go far before they were confronted by a set of iron bars that stretched from floor to ceiling. The fence was pierced by a gate tied closed with a vivid yellow strap, but Galyan did not reach for it. Instead, he gestured to the view between their feet. The room below them was more brightly lit, both by the orange light of the furnaces and the blue glow from the lyrium. Grey-aproned Tranquil moved between forge and anvil, and the blows of their hammers echoed in the stone chamber.

Once Galyan's eyes were fully acclimated to the dim light, he began to point out the smithy's features to his apprentices.

"As you can see, there are the stairs leading up to the courtyard down and to the right. There is no part of the smithy that you can't see from above. Further along the wall, you can see the crates of processed ore. They're small, but incredibly heavy. Each of them weighs almost as much as Evard, and is worth more than any of us will see in our lifetimes."

"How much, exactly?" Stephanie asked.

"The Circle pays sixty sovereigns for each crate of processed ore," Galyan said. "They're worth ten times that amount to the Carta - a dwarven crime guild - but you don't want to get involved with those people. And there, you can see a Tranquil smith scoop lyrium dust into a crucible. The crucible is heated to melt the dust and some of the impurities are burned away. After that, they pour the molten ore into molds to make ingots. You can see the spare molds on the racks near the furnace."

"I expected them to be bigger," Evard observed. The ingots were about the size of acorns.

"Runes aren't very large," Galyan said. "Each ingot makes four rune blanks, but the ore has to be alloyed before the blanks are cut. To our left, you can see a smith working an ingot."

"Where?" Kerian asked. "I can't see."

"There, just to the right of the pillar. The tall, dark-haired man."

Galyan studied the smith more intently. He was bent over his work, his broad, pale back shirtless in the heat of the forge. He straightened to speak to another and Galyan was able to see his face. It was Gabriel, his handsome features expressionless and the brand fresh and raw-looking on his forehead. The intake of Galyan's breath was audible.

"Is something wrong, master?" Kerian asked.

"No, just a passing shiver," he said as casually as he could. "The chill of the courtyard leaving, that's all."

"But you will tell me if you start to feel unwell?" she asked.

"Of course," he lied. "And it seems we aren't the only new formari in Master Dunne's care. Today is that man's first day, too."

"I thought the formari were mages," Stephanie said.

"They are," Galyan replied. "A formari is any mage who crafts for the Circle, regardless of their ability to cast spells. The Tranquil are still mages and they're still part of the Circle, even if their link to the Fade has been severed."

"But they aren't even people anymore!" Stephanie retorted in a voice far too loud for an enclosed, stone-walled space. Every head in the smithy lifted to see who was speaking.

"Never say that again in my presence!" Galyan said quietly, but sternly, involuntarily looming over his apprentice. He made a conscious effort to avoid intimidation in his teaching, but the entry vestibule was not large, and the subject of Tranquility was a poignant one for any enchanter with apprentices. "The Tranquil are different from mages, just as one mage is different from another. They have been stripped of their emotions, but you must be out of touch with yours to say such a callous, insensitive thing."

"I meant only…" Stephanie withdrew, shrinking away from her mentor's disapproval.

"I know what you meant," Galyan said, more calmly. "And now you must learn my meaning. Courtesy is not for the benefit of the listener, apprentice. It serves the speaker and preserves our humanity. Without it, we're no better than beasts, or the weapons the Chantry takes us for. They place little value on our lives as it is. I will not have you cheapen us further by belittling a cherished part of our brethren. Each Tranquil mage is someone's friend, someone's former apprentice. That bond is not severed with their connection to the Fade."

"How strong is your bond with Adelais?" Stephanie countered, growing defiant in the face of his continued rebuke.

He hesitated, wavering between renewed anger and profound shame.

"Meet me in the small chapel after dinner, Stephanie," he said carefully. "I seem to have neglected part of your education."

The tableau ended, and the smiths returned to their tasks. Galyan exhaled, willing his nausea to subside. His confrontation with Stephanie had roused his temper. He could feel the poison of his wounds pumping through his veins with every heartbeat. Blood brings cleansing, he thought, and prayed that the exertion spread healing rather than contagion.

"As I was saying," he attempted to resume the interrupted tour, "the ingots are refined further by the smith. They are beaten into disks and enriched with magically sensitive substances such as silverite dust. The lyrium is folded over the inclusions and beaten again, incorporating the additions into the rune matrix. The process is repeated until a homogenous mixture is attained. At that point, the disk is cut into four pieces and each is shaped into an individual rune blank."

He gestured toward a set of shelves beside the door.

"Before we go any further into the forge, we need to put on some protective gear," he said. "No one passes through the gate unless they're wearing gloves and an apron. The smaller sizes are on the bottom shelves, and the larger sizes are on the top."

He donned an apron and a pair of supple leather gloves and waited until his apprentices were similarly attired. The fitting was protracted because the gloves Evard selected were comically large and had to be exchanged for a smaller pair. Galyan had to stifle a laugh, remembering how eager he was at Evard's age to assume responsibilities too big for him. The distraction did calm him, however. He had not realized how deeply his confrontation with Stephanie had upset him until he tried to recover from it.

Once everyone was fitted appropriately, he opened the gate and led them across the floor to a group of clustered workbenches. Cauldrons of brilliantly colored liquid were positioned below them. The smell of wax was strong in the air.

"This is the coating area," he said. "Naked rune blanks are just as dangerous as raw lyrium, so they are coated with molten wax and allowed to cool. The cooled, coated blanks are placed in a basket and raised to the workshop area."

He selected a wax-covered rune blank from a bin and held it up for their inspection.

"Each color represents a different grade of rune," he said. "Novice runes are coated in blue wax, journeyman in yellow, expert in red, and master in green. Conveniently, the colors match the piping on our robes. You are all apprentices, novices to rune crafting, so you will be using blue-coated blanks. You must be absolutely certain that you examine each blank carefully before you touch it. If the coating is chipped, cracked, or imperfect in any way, do not touch it. Cover the basket with its lid and call me, Master Dunne, or another formari immediately. If all are engaged, call a Tranquil. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ser," Evard and Kerian said promptly.

"Do you understand, Steph?" Galyan asked, bending to peer at her face. "Lyrium is dangerous, and you are all very dear to me."

She looked away.

He took a step closer and began to reach for her elbows before he remembered that even casual touch distressed her.

"I'm sorry I made light of your feelings, Steph," he said gently. "I know you have a good heart, and I was wrong to imply otherwise. That's why I care about you so much, and that's why I want you to be safe. We will talk this evening, just you and me, and you can say whatever's on your mind, but we're learning crafting right now. Do you want to join us, or would you rather be excused for today?"

"And it's alright with you if I say I want to leave?" she asked, raising her eyes to his face.

"I want you to be safe," he said. "If you're upset and I can't make it right, you shouldn't be here. Tomorrow is another day."

Inexplicably she grinned.

"Then I'll stay," she said, releasing him and pushing her hair out of her eyes.

He smiled at her volatility and allowed himself to relax. Including Janelle, he had mentored fifteen apprentices since his Harrowing. Each apprentice was unique, and the memory of each would stay with him always, but none had ever exhibited Stephanie's changeable moods. She reminded him of Cassandra in that, but that memory, at least, caused him no pain.

"Very well," he said. "Let's inform Master Dunne that we're here. He's the senior enchanter in charge of rune crafting, and you will refer to him as Master Dunne even though he is not your mentor."

"Is that usual, ser?" Kerian asked.

"It used to be," Galyan said. "The senior who headed each department was styled Master or Mistress So-And-So, but that hasn't been common practice since First Enchanter Edmonde was an apprentice. Even then, if you called Mistress Aislin that, she'd have you scrubbing bedpans before you got through her given name. She only lets me get away with it because I was her apprentice, back when rocks were soft. Master Dunne is more traditional and prefers more formal nomenclature."

"I should have been more precise," Kerian said. "I meant, is it usual that you should have to inform him of our arrival? We're the only ones here."

"Ah, I see," Galyan said. "Forge rules state that no mage may begin work without first informing the Master Runecrafter of his or her arrival. In the afternoons, that's usually only a matter of waving to him across the forge, but he spends his mornings doing paperwork. Come we'll find him in his office at the back of the forge."

"We could wait here," Kerian said.

"Not a chance," Galyan said. "No apprentices in the forge unless an enchanter is present. House rules."

"Since when have you been such an enthusiast for rules?" Kerian whispered as they wove their way between the workbenches.

"Since we entered a building which houses enough lyrium to kill every mage in Thedas," Galyan said. "Besides, I want to introduce you personally."

Galyan paused as he crossed the threshold into Master Dunne's sanctuary, unsure what he would find, but time stood still in the rune forge, it seemed. Galyan had aged in the twenty-five years since his first visit, becoming more weathered, more scarred, and more gaunt, but Master Dunne had not. His hair was just as black as it had always been, and his eyes were just as blue. His skin was just as luminous and just as unmarred by line or wrinkle. To all outward appearances, he looked the same at fifty-five as he had at thirty. Nor had he moved in that time, if his quarters were any indication. His charts and scrolls were still filed in tidy racks, and the books stacked beside his crisply-made bed were still arranged according to size and the points of the compass. The only thing even remotely changed about his surroundings was the game board set out on the table under the window. Its patina had faded with use over the years, even if its owner had not.

"How many years has it been this time?" Master Dunne said without preamble in his clipped, strangely monotone voice. He was not Tranquil, but he was not what many would call ordinary, either.

"Eight or nine, I think," Galyan said. "It was before Avril's Harrowing."

"It has been ten years, four months, and three days," Master Dunne informed him. "I protested that Claude was too young to satisfy his crafting requirement. You did not wear a Circle robe on that occasion, but a green tunic that matched your eyes, which is to say that it had faded and grown splotchy over too many washings."

"You always did remember everything," Galyan said. "I'd like to introduce you to my apprentices. We'll be doing a turn in the rune forge, by your leave."

"The boy is too young," Master Dunne said after barely a glance. "I will admit no apprentice who has not attained his twelfth year."

"Evard is twelve years old," Galyan said. "The girls are Stephanie and Kerian."

"Only three this time? Last time, you had six, four boys and two girls. I refused to admit the youngest, and you sent him with another enchanter four years, seven months, and two days later. Very irresponsible of you, and uncivil."

"I had my hands full at the time, Master Dunne," Galyan replied, hoping that Stephanie would not do the math. "I was unwell."

"You had been dosed nigh unto death with poppy juice and smothered with a pillow," Master Dunne said, rendering the math unnecessary. "You were recovering in the infirmary both from the effects of the drug and from the pneumonia you contracted following the assault. You lead an exciting life, Regalyan. The consequence of having disregarded so many of the Chantry's commandments, no doubt."

Galyan cleared his throat, eager to end the interview.

"I've already given them the tour, Runemaster," he said. "With your leave, I'd like them to begin."

"You will accompany them in the afternoons? I no longer admit apprentices unless their mentor is present."

"They will be joining me here," Galyan said. "I've been assigned to the rune forge for the time being. First Enchanter Edmonde said that he'd have a word with you."

"Have you now! Your arrival has preceded the First Enchanter's. Now leave me. It is time for my morning devotions."

Galyan bowed and led his apprentices from the office.

"Well, he seems to be a few templars short of an Exalted March," Stephanie said once the door was closed.

"He's eccentric," Galyan said more diplomatically. "He is very particular and very precise, and I would not advise challenging him to a game of chess."

"It sounds as if you two have a history," Kerian observed.

"Of course," Galyan said. "We're both senior enchanters. We've known each other for a long time. He seldom leaves the rune forge, even for meals, so you will probably not have seen him."

"A romantic history," she said in a softer voice.

"Oh, no," Galyan said, shaking his head at her temerity. "That is not a conversation I will have with my apprentice."

She stammered something that sounded like an apology, her lower lip trembling.

"There's nothing wrong with curiosity, Kerian, but as close as the four of us are, some things must remain private. But, just this once, I will elaborate by saying that when you come back here in several years with your first apprentice, Master Dunne will tell you precisely how long it has been since the last time he has seen you and what you were wearing at the time. And your apprentice will probably ask you the same questions that you're asking me. Now, if your curiosity is sated, let's proceed to the workbenches. Pick four together. I don't want to have to sprint between benches if one of you drops a rune blank."

To Galyan's relief, they chose some benches near the gate, as far from Master Dunne's office as possible. He did not dislike the master runecrafter, but even after an acquaintance of twenty-five years, he was no more at ease with the man's idiosyncrasies than Kerian was.

Once they were settled, he selected a yellow-coated rune from the basket of blanks and held it up for his apprentices to see.

"If I drop this rune blank, it's gone," he said. "I don't try to catch it in my hand. I don't try to catch it in my apron. I don't try to bounce it with my knee or my foot or any other part of my body. I let it hit the floor. The grating will catch it. That's what it's supposed to do."

He spent the next quarter hour going over preparation: placing the rune blank in the depression carved into the bench, securing the cover that would prevent it from slipping, and selecting the appropriate rune tracing. Periodically, he would stop the lecture to quiz them on previous steps, returning to safety precautions again and again. The rules of the rune forge provided redundancy such as the need for wearing gloves while handling a wax-coated rune blank, but with the consequence of error as grim as it was, excessive caution was impossible. Galyan had never lost an apprentice to the rune forge, but Alte had, and after helping his friend learn to live with the guilt, he was certain he never wanted to endure it himself.

"The raised silverite blades of the rune tracing will pierce the wax and transmit the energy of the spell into the lyrium matrix," he said, "but it needs an etching agent to achieve permanence. Each apprentice takes a turn making etching agent, but for now, we'll use some other apprentices have prepared."

"Are these the recipes you were talking about?" Kerian asked.

"Yes," Galyan said. "The recipes are straightforward and the preparation is as simple as mixing two parts of reagent A with five parts of reagent B, so we will not be spending any time on that until it's your turn to make a batch. For now, the important thing to remember is not to get any of the etching agent on your skin."

"Is it poison?" Evard asked.

"Some of them do contain acid, but that isn't the biggest hazard. Etching agent is made of magically sensitive materials, and they may act like potions on the body, especially if you've got it on your hands when you stop for lunch."

"Potions are worse than acid?" Evard was skeptical. "Since when?"

"There are potions that can strip you of mana completely," Galyan said. "Some also prevent magical effects, which would probably not be an issue, except that they are usually administered on the edge of a blade. A wounded mage who cannot cast spells and cannot be healed is in dire straits indeed. We won't be working with anything like that here. And then there's orichalcum, which we will work with nearly every day. It's a liquid metal like lyrium, but it has none of lyrium's lethal properties. It mixes freely with water, so if you get some on your hands, you won't die, but that doesn't mean it won't have unpleasant effects."

"What kind of effects?" Evard was nothing if not persistent, especially when the potential for mayhem was present. Galyan made a note to himself to watch the boy.

"It's been known to stir ill-advised passions," he said. "And it's potent. One drop in a pitcher of wine will give everyone who drinks it a wretchedly uncomfortable night."

"What kind of passions?" Evard pushed his luck.

"The kind you think about when you're trying to get to sleep," Galyan said as obliquely as he could. "And that is absolutely the last I will say about that. If you have any further questions about it, see me after lunch. I'm sure I can find something more productive to occupy your mind. Now, are we going to make a rune or not?"

He did not wait for them to answer.

"Defensive spells are my forte," he said, "so I've selected an armor rune tracing. I check to be sure that the cover is in place over the rune blank and that the latch is secure, then I center the rune tracing in the hole in the cover. You will notice that the knob on the rune tracing is the same size and shape as the hole? That makes it easier. I press down gently on the knob as the tracing bites into the wax. When I feel resistance, the tracing is seated. We're ready to cast a spell. Mage Armor, I think, to make an armor rune. Usually, if I were casting Mage Armor for defensive purposes, I'd focus my will and cast the spell on myself, but in this case, I'm going to cast it on the rune blank."

Galyan cast the spell.

"I didn't see anything," Kerian said. "Shouldn't there be some kind of nimbus around it or something?"

"No," Galyan said, "because all of the energy from the spell was directed into the rune."

He tapped the wooden knob that had formerly provided a handle for the rune tracing and it toppled, rolling across the workbench. The silverite foil of the tracing had been absorbed by the lyrium.

"Should the knob not come away from the rune immediately, don't force it," he said. "If the tracing is still embedded in the wax or still attached to the knob in any way, the spell failed and you need to recoat the rune. What do you think you should do if that happens?"

"Call you?" Stephanie suggested.

"Precisely," he said. "Sometimes, a more advanced caster can save a rune by repeating the final steps, but more often, the rune blank needs to be melted down to start again. I'm not worried about that with you three. That usually happens when mages are afraid of the spells they're casting, and you three are more confident than that."

Galyan lifted the cover and removed the new rune from the recessed well. He held it aloft and broke the wax that contained the rune. The apprentices gasped, but grey metal glinted back at them.

"If you are certain that the spell took, you must remove the wax from the rune," he said. "You're still wearing gloves and will continue to do so, but once the spell is set and the rune is finished, even mages can handle the rune without harm. We break off the wax to avoid confusing completed runes from rune blanks. Finished runes are sorted by grade and type in those bins over there."

"Can I see?" Evard asked eagerly at the same moment as Stephanie asked, "What's a finished rune worth?"

"By itself, not a lot," Galyan said. "Depending on the grade and the rarity of the spell used to create it, between five silver and two sovereigns. The most anyone has paid for a rune I've made has been fifty silver. It doesn't become valuable until it's set into a weapon or armor."

"Will you be teaching us how to do that?" Stephanie asked.

"Not I!" Galyan chuckled. "Nor can any mage learn that skill. Setting runes is as much of an art as manufacturing the rune blanks, and like the rune blanks, only Tranquil or dwarves can do it. They use raw, liquid lyrium to provide adhesion. Why are you so interested in coin all of a sudden? Were you thinking about going into business?"

"No," Stephanie said, "it's just that Mother Charise is always harping on how expensive we are to keep and how gracious the Chantry is to shelter us despite the magic that damns our souls."

"Mother Charise has been saying that since I was an apprentice," Galyan said. "You could present her with a ledger and she would continue to say the same thing. She believes that the people of Val Royeaux empty their coffers into the Chantry donation box every rent day, and that the pittance we provide is not enough to put robes on our backs."

"Do they? The people of Val Royeaux, I mean."

"I don't know," Galyan said. "I've always attended services in the Circle chantry, but I don't see how that could be possible. Your average laborer makes five silver a month and needs all of it just to live. Even an apprentice seldom makes less than five runes a day. Even at five silver per rune, that's six sovereigns a month. Since mages are never paid for the runes they make, every copper bit goes to the Chantry. Had Evard not skipped his class on sums, he might tell you where the line is drawn on the balance sheet."

"The average laborer does not have to pay a standing army to leer at him," Stephanie said bitterly.

Galyan's head snapped around at her quiet remark.

"Is someone bothering you?" he asked around the lump in his throat. Of the eight female apprentices he had mentored, three had been molested by templars to varying degrees, including Stephanie herself, and that was three too many.

"No one specific," she said quickly. "Not anymore. But I see how they stare. All of them. They hide behind their helmets and they think we don't notice. Kerian has it even worse. Even the templar outside was gawking at her."

"I know," he sighed. "I wish there was some way I could shield you from that. All of you."

"Would it be any worse outside?" Kerian shrugged. "Soldiers stare at girls in the streets all the time."

"The girls in the streets can say no," Stephanie shot back, annoyance curling at her lips. "And if it goes past staring and the girl can prove it, the soldier gets hanged. Here, they don't even get a reprimand."

"Do they really hang them?" Kerian asked, disbelieving.

"That's what Renee said," Stephanie insisted. "She didn't come here until she was sixteen, and before that, her mother kept a shop in Rue Grandvert. Ask her yourself if you don't believe me."

"What would she know?" Kerian sniffed. "She was an apostate!"

"She's a Harrowed mage now," Galyan said in defense of his former apprentice, "and a good one. None of us had any control over the circumstances which brought us to the Circle - or those which kept us out of it - and we're all equal once we don an apprentice's robe. I intend no disrespect to the Circle when I say that life in Val Royeaux is very different from life within these walls. It is a fact, neither good nor bad. Renee had no reason to lie to you."

"Do we have to talk about this now?" Evard interrupted. "I'm hungry!"

"This is probably a good place to stop," Galyan agreed. "But one last word before we go. If someone - anyone, mage or templar - does something that makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me at once. I know there are evils we can't overcome, but I can exert pressure where you cannot."

He knew as he said it that he had uttered a lie. He would tell First Enchanter Edmonde, and First Enchanter Edmonde would tell him that there was nothing anyone could do, apart from moving the apprentice to a different Circle, but it was the only solace he could offer his apprentices.

Most days, he enjoyed the purpose he found in helping to shape young minds and nurture growth. Most days, he took more pleasure in his role as a mentor than he had ever felt as a scholar. Most days, he found pride in the knowledge that his apprentices sought his counsel and looked to him for guidance and protection. But after his words with Stephanie, both now and earlier, today would not be one of those days.


	12. Chapter 12: Observer

Galyan approached the dining hall with leaden steps, but he went. He would much rather have remained in the rune forge and napped, but routine must be preserved.

Long ago, after a period of neglect that he blamed for a failed Harrowing, he resolved to devote a portion of every day to each apprentice so that he might help build the trust and the confidence that would enable his apprentices to survive. There were days when the communication was superficial, and there were times when he believed that his apprentices hid as much as they revealed, but that was a natural part of the process. Through familiarity, he learned to tell when they were anxious about their replies, and that told him more about their lives than they ever would have volunteered.

But dialogue with Stephanie was taxing, and Galyan was already weary.

They found Janelle sitting in the corner with another girl, solemnly dividing a shared lunch of bread, cheese and apples. They had been talking quietly over their selections, but both fell silent at his approach.

"If you break the last slice in half, you'll both get to be generous," Galyan said, smiling as Janelle's mop-headed friend grew wide-eyed at his arrival.

"I didn't want to be greedy, ser," she squeaked.

"I know, child," he said. "We usually have lunch together, Janelle, but I would not like to discourage such eager sharing. Why don't you eat with your friend today, and we can begin our routine tomorrow?"

"I won't get in trouble?" the timid apprentice asked.

"You won't get in trouble," he said. "And you'll always be able to join your friends for breakfast and dinner. I also like to meet with my apprentices individually every day, but the times depend on your classes. Kerian will tell you where and when before you go to your first class."

"How come she gets to be your assistant?" Stephanie sulked.

"She's older," Galyan said. "Once Kerian is Harrowed, it will be your turn, but don't be in too much of a hurry. There's a lot of messages to carry."

"If you spread them around, there wouldn't be so many," Stephanie pointed out.

"There are drawbacks," he said. "You'd have to eat breakfast with me every day."

"Good point," she said.

"How much longer do we have to wait?" Evard asked. "I'm starving, and the line is getting long.."

"Alright, alright," Galyan consented. "And, Janelle, if you want to talk to me at any time, the matron will know where to find me. Enjoy your lunch."

"B-bye, Senior 'Galyan," Janelle replied and went back to chatting with her friend as he had never hailed her in the first place.

Under current policy, the Circle was forbidden to assemble… but that prohibition was relaxed at mealtimes. They tried enforcing the ban even then, serving food from long side boards and shooing people back to their dormitories to eat, but it did not last long. The staff soon grew weary of scouring the tower for the plates and bowls absent-minded mages left in every conceivable cranny, and before the week was out, the dining hall was in use once more. These days, they served breakfast immediately after Chapter - brief, technically-illicit meetings where the leaders of each fraternity disseminated relevant information to its members - and dinner after sundown. Lunch was a less formal affair. Bread, fruit, pickled vegetables, and cheese or eggs were simply set out for the mages to serve themselves. Left to his own devices, Galyan would not bother, but it was a good time to meet with his apprentices to discuss issues that affected them as a group.

Today, Galyan was not even remotely hungry, despite sleeping through breakfast. His back throbbed, and the thought of food made him nauseous, but his apprentices were growing children and needed more regular feeding. He was surprised and put off by the plate Kerian thrust into his hands.

"Kerian, stop," he said firmly. "I do not need my apprentice to tell me when to eat."

"Then fill your plate yourself," she said, selecting an orange and placing it on the wooden trencher. "You need to eat if you're going to get better."

He allowed himself to be corrected and offered no protest as she added some bread and a slice of cheese. If he did not eat it, Evard would be glad of the extra helping. The boy was entering his first growth spurt, and his appetite was insatiable.

"Let's eat in the courtyard," he said. "It's warmer than it was before, and some sunshine will do us all good."

The courtyard where the rune forge was situated was normally off-limits to apprentices or to mages not bound for the forge. The templar presence was lighter there, and it was felt that the opportunity for mischief was too great. Happily, their assignment to the forge gave them leave to use it at will, and Galyan did not intend to pass up a single opportunity to be out in the open air. That was the thing he liked least about his promotion. Before he was elevated to the rank of enchanter, he seldom spent two days together within the walls of the tower. Now, he went months at a time without seeing the sun or clouds. Except for Kerian, his apprentices had known no other life, so they did not miss it as keenly as he did.

Stephanie and Evard wolfed their food and were soon bored of their elders' slower pace. Evard excused himself first, only to go off in search of a slug, which he dropped down the back of Stephanie's robes. She squealed and took off after him, chasing him across the flagstones. Galyan smiled and left them to it. They seldom had the chance to be children.

Kerian was more difficult to shake off. He loved Aislin almost as much as his own mother, but he cursed her for setting the girl against him. She was relentless.

"I can peel my own blighted orange!" he protested. "There's a difference between healers' competence and smothering, and you are definitely on the wrong side of the line."

"Forgive the intrusion," said an oddly flat voice behind them, "but one of your apprentices dropped a jewel in the forge."

They turned to discover that Gabriel had crept up on them. He had donned a tunic and cloak against the chill of the courtyard, and extended a glittering golden earring in the palm of his hand.

"Maker's breath, I thought I fixed that!" Kerian exclaimed, her hands flying to her earlobes to check.

"It pleases me to return it," the young man said, though his voice was incapable of expressing joy or any other emotion.

"Er… thank you," Kerian said, and plucked the earring carefully from his hand. Alte's former apprentice bowed and retreated toward the dining hall. Tranquility did not negate the need for sustenance.

"You seem uncomfortable around him," Galyan remarked. "Is it because you knew him before?"

"I… knew him."

"And? It's sad, but it's a truth we must face. Some of our friends will not survive their Harrowing, and others will never be offered the chance to prove themselves. It's the way things have been for almost a millennia."

"We weren't friends," she said tersely, crossing her arms and looking anywhere but at him.

"Was he rude to you in some way?" he asked, his brow creasing in confusion. "I'm having a hard time imagining Gabriel disrespecting anyone."

"It's more that I was rude to him," Kerian admitted, her cheeks flushing. "He asked me to attend Senior Gervais's lecture on fungi of the Anderfels with him and I turned him down. I was blunt, and he was disappointed."

"But you attended that lecture! I distinctly remember falling asleep and drooling on your shoulder. And again, I apologize."

"I attended it with you."

She spoke without drama or hesitation. There was no emphasis or significant pause. Her tone was as matter-of-fact as if she had said "Water flows downhill," but her words hit him like a blow to the abdomen. The air left his lungs, and for several moments, all he could do was blink.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Her flattery, her obsessive concern with his health, her reluctance to acknowledge the templar's attention, all of it.

"Kerian, is there a reason you discourage the attention of young men?" he asked carefully.

"They're immature," she replied.

"I would not describe Gabriel as immature. He has always been a remarkably level-headed young man, and shows greater discretion than many Harrowed mages I know."

"He's dull. Before he was made Tranquil, I mean. And I like men with more experience."

"I see," he said, slumping as the implications of her words sank in. "Did you have anyone in particular in mind?"

"That's a rather personal question." She looked away, staring into the stone wall she faced as if she could see through it.

"More personal than telling me how much experience you like your lovers to have? There can't be many apprentices who fit that description."

"I'm not interested in children. That's all apprentices are."

"You do realize that romantic involvement between apprentices and Harrowed mages is strongly discouraged, I hope," he said. "If anyone found out, it would all but guarantee the transfer of the latter to another Circle. Circle leadership might even decide the mage was a predator and subject him or her to the Rite of Tranquility. Do you enjoy placing your partners in danger?"

"I haven't had any," she said, staring into her lap. "And I won't be an apprentice forever. Once I pass my Harrowing…"

"Once you pass your Harrowing, you'll be free to form whatever attachments you wish among those whose rank is within one step of yours."

"Mages and enchanters, you mean? No one else?"

"Did you fancy someone with more seniority?" Galyan asked. "First Enchanter Edmonde would be flattered, but he would have to decline, as would any senior enchanter. Accepting would expose him or her to horrific censure."

"Why?" she demanded. "We'd both be Harrowed mages. We'd be on equal footing."

"Equal as mages, but there would still be an imbalance of authority. Senior enchanters advise the First Enchanter on matters that affect the Circle. They coordinate the activity of mages in their respective areas. If the newly-Harrowed mage's colleagues found out, the accusations of nepotism would be deafening."

"But nobody would have to find out!" she almost pleaded.

"There are no secrets in the White Spire, Kerian. Someone would find out, and the consequences would be grave for both parties. And that's assuming the senior was willing to participate. I can't think of any who would be, even if I assumed you wanted any of them."

"You can't mean that…" she said, her voice strangely thick. "Galyan…"

"I'm old enough to be your father," he said, ignoring her use of his bare personal name, "and most of my peers are older than me. You can't be that keen on grappling with a withered old sack of bones."

"There are more important things than appearance. Compatibility. Respect. I have no interest in some passing liaison."

"We're mages, Kerian," he said. "Passing liaisons are the only kind we will ever have."

"You don't believe that. I know you want more. Why else have you been alone all this time?"

"Who said I have?"

"But…" tears glistened on her cheek.

Galyan sighed and patted her hand. It was a ridiculous gesture, and a patronizing one, but he forced himself to do it anyway.

"I care about you very much, Kerian," he said. "You've been my apprentice since you were eleven years old, and there has never been a day when you have not made me proud…"

"But?" she said, her voice as flat as a Tranquil's.

"There is no 'but,'" he said. "You are becoming a fine woman, and will no doubt be Harrowed soon. When you are Harrowed, our relationship will change. I will no longer be your mentor, but I hope to remain your friend."

"But I want -"

"You want to feel loved," he said. "You are. You want men to desire you. Our ginger-haired friend would attest that they do, were he not trying to impress you with his courtesy. You will not be the poorer for having avoided a fling you would one day regret."

"You don't know that," she said.

"I won't risk your friendship to find out. You have a good heart, Kerian. Let's be happy with what we have."

She smiled sadly and leaned against his shoulder.

"I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?" she asked ruefully.

"It was a little awkward," he admitted, "but I'm glad we had a chance to clear the air."

She sighed, and Galyan allowed himself to relax. He anticipated more uncomfortable moments in the future as they both tried to forget the incident, but for now, he allowed himself to be thankful that their conversation had gone unobserved. He had not exaggerated the consequences of inappropriate affairs.

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, Galyan's lunch forgotten on the bench beside them. The emotional events of the morning had left him exhausted, a condition exacerbated by poor sleep and the pain of his injured back, and he dozed, only to be awakened by the scuff of boots on the pavement of the courtyard.

"If you're cold, Kerian, you can borrow my cloak," said a male voice in front of them. He sat up straighter, wincing as the exertion pulled at his wounds.

"Thank you, Gabriel," Kerian said, standing so he could fasten it around her shoulders. "I didn't expect to be out here so long."

"Why don't you join us?" Galyan offered, picking up his plate and moving over so Gabriel could sit on the other side of Kerian. The formari had a plate in his hands, apparently following their example and dining out of doors. "I haven't heard the bell that signals the start of afternoon classes, so we can stay a little longer."

"Thank you, senior enchanter," Gabriel said. "I should be… happy… to accept."

Kerian's gaze lifted to the brand on the young man's forehead.

"I am not yet accustomed to my role," he said. "I anticipate emotions that don't manifest."

"Is it very new to you?" Kerian asked. "I mean, I haven't seen you in a few months."

"Today is the first day," Gabriel said.

"I'm surprised to see you working so soon," Galyan said. "Usually, the First Enchanter allows a few days to settle in."

"I elected to begin sooner," Gabriel said. "I believe I will acclimate more quickly if I am allowed to be productive."

"That makes sense," Kerian said. "Thinking about the past won't change it."

"Are you enjoying your first day in the rune forge?" Gabriel asked.

"It's been… enlightening," she replied, not looking at Galyan. "Did you take a turn here before…"

"Yes," Gabriel said, "although I fared poorly. My spells were too feeble for any but the weakest enchantments."

"The Circle needs all kinds of runes," Galyan said. "And it needs all kinds of mages. The formari are an invaluable asset."

"Your apprentices seem to be enjoying themselves," Gabriel changed the subject. Whether he sensed that they had exhausted the conversational potential of the previous topic, Galyan could not say.

"Too much," Kerian said. "Evard is going to get his butt tanned for getting his clothing so muddy."

"You might tell the matron that I requested herbs from the garden to prepare etching agent," Gabriel said.

"You can lie?" Kerian asked.

"I would not be required to speak to the matron," he said.

"But you are capable of contemplating deceit," she said. "I find that reassuring, somehow."

Gabriel hesitated.

"I should have taken a second piece of bread," he said.

"You're welcome to mine," Galyan offered. "My appetite is not what it was twenty years ago. If you'll excuse me, I see Knight-Lieutenant Vanard is taking his meal break, too. I'd like to ask him a question or two about Kirkwall. We hail from the same city, it seems."

The two templars had been relieved and were lounging at ease on a bench nearer to the entrance to the dining hall, eating their bread and cheese and drinking from mugs of foamy ale. Galyan made no conscious attempt at concealment, but a trellis of half-dead vines shielded him from view.

"I'm telling you," said an uncomfortably familiar voice, "it was like sliding into a Rue Anguille whore."

"If the fit wasn't snug enough, you should have used a bigger tool," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard's voice said calmly.

"It was enough for him," the familiar voice retorted. "He squealed like a spitted pig."

Galyan froze where he stood. If the second templar was Devareaux, it sounded as if he had taken out his frustrations on an innocent after all.

"Yet he stood there and let you get on with it? Really, Devareaux, these wild boasts of yours grow more ludicrous every day."

"Don't see that he had much choice," Devareaux said. "He was chained to the wall at the time."

"Knight-Templar Devareaux, the penalty for obtaining sexual favors through force or coercion is ninety days on river watch. That tower is beastly cold this time of year. Is your pride worth that?"

"You only care because you're sweet on his apprentice," Devareaux said.

"That's enough, templar," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said, his words punctuated by the scrape of armor against the bench. "The Knight-Captain told me to switch someone to river watch. You just volunteered. Inform the knight-lieutenant on duty that you are to remain there in your off-duty hours. I will check."

"But… you didn't believe -"

"The penalty for lying to your superior officer is the same. Go."

Galyan waited until the sound of angry footsteps receded before he showed himself.

"Things must be very different in Kirkwall than they are here," he said. "That's the first time in twenty-five years I've seen a templar disciplined for what he claims to have done."

"They weren't any different in Kirkwall," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said. "That's why Devareaux had to be punished. You can only push people so far."

"That's assuming you acknowledge that they're people," Galyan snorted and sat down beside the templar on the bench. "Did you have friends in the Kirkwall Circle?"

"Not really," he said. "I had friends in the Order, but I doubt that's what you meant. Leadership discouraged fraternization."

"Lord Seeker Lambert would probably agree."

"So it seems," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said. "I won't discuss the present administration, but as things stand, Lord Seeker Lambert may be more of an ally than his predecessor. If Devareaux appealed his new posting to Knight-Commander Eron, he would have reversed it. If Devareaux tries that with Lord Seeker Lambert, he will likely find himself assigned to to the river watch permanently."

"The river watch?" Galyan asked.

"We maintain an outpost on an island in the middle of the river. It isn't much of an island - most of the time, it's completely submerged with only the watchtower sticking out of the river - but it's a good place to dispose of troublemakers."

"Why man it at all?" Galyan asked. "Do you fear an armada of mages sailing up from the Waking Sea?"

Knight-Lieutenant Vanard laughed, a light, merry sound in the quiet courtyard.

"If they did, we'd never spot them from Bowman's Tower," he said. "It's too far upriver to even see the coast. Val Royeaux used to be smaller. Back in the Steel Age, somebody decided that the Qunari might get bored in the Free Marches and invade Val Royeaux overland. They built a dozen or so watchtowers at intervals along the river and almost immediately lost interest in them. Some were converted to chateaux, but they're old and falling apart. Nobles prop them up with gold. The rest are just crumbling into the river, because there aren't enough navigation hazards between the headwaters and the coast, apparently. A few decades ago, the Knight-Vigilant appropriated one of the more intact ones to house inconvenient templars."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't see many old templars," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard explained. "You must have noticed. The lyrium rots our brains over time, but we never lose our sense of purpose. You can't put the dust-addled to watching mages or protecting the Divine, so we give them make-work jobs and tell them to remain vigilant. They may be unable to string four words together, but they make passable sentries, provided you never ask them to do anything more complex than sound an alarm. Ser Devareaux is in for a jolly time standing out in the wind and reminding old templars to put on their pants."

"Well, if the qunari do decide to invade, perhaps we'll be treated to a tale of how he buggered one of them," Galyan chuckled.

"I'm surprised you don't know of the place," Knight Lieutenant Vanard said when he was done laughing. "It's visible from the top of the White Spire."

"I do know the place," Galyan said. "I thought it was a manor, though. In ancient days, I used to get out of the tower more often, and the foliage along the river walk was peerless at this time of year. It's a pity that my apprentices will never know the pleasure."

"I might be able to fix that," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said, his cheeks reddening. "The First Enchanter would authorize an outing, with templar supervision."

"Don't count on that," Galyan said dejectedly, then brightened, "but he might authorize a foraging expedition, especially if the trip included a visit to the caverns north of Chevalier's Point."

"I know those! There's supposed to be an underground lake in one of them."

"Your knowledge of geography is good for one so recently assigned to Val Royeaux," Galyan observed.

"I served at Bowman's Tower myself for a time," he said, gazing at his armored knees. "I had recently arrived from Kirkwall. The Knight-Commander there issued heavier doses than is customary, and it took a few months to adjust. I spent a lot of time prowling the caves along the riverbank. Perhaps I thought I'd find lyrium there."

"Not so close to the surface."

"I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that lyrium came out of the ground. I was twitchy enough to try anything."

"I've heard templars make oblique references to lyrium before, but you're the first I've met who's discussed it openly," Galyan said.

"Most members of my Order believe that templars and mages shouldn't talk to each other."

"Most members of your Order believe mages aren't people."

"Most templars haven't been to Kirkwall. We're getting into dangerous waters, senior enchanter. The Seekers who questioned me ordered me not to speak of my time there. Why do you want to go foraging in the caves?"

"There's a particular fungus that grows there," he answered. "It's useful in potion-making. By torchlight, it looks exactly like common lichen, but it shines in the light of a glow sphere. We tried cultivating it in the dungeons, but it didn't take."

"If someone planted me in the dungeons, I'd curl up and die, too," the templar said. "The air is half soot and the rest, piss and blood."

Galyan looked around for his apprentices. Evard and Stephanie were either playing catch with a pinecone or trying to decapitate each other with it. It was often hard to tell with those two. Kerian still sat on her bench, talking to Gabriel. No one seemed impatient to get back inside.

"Is it my imagination or is our midday break longer than usual today?" he asked.

"Good question," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said. "We didn't miss the bell."

They made inconsequential small talk for perhaps another quarter hour before the bell called them back to their respective duties. The delay had not been Galyan's imagination. The sun had already dipped below the rooftops of the western arm of the Circle complex, so time had progressed, even if their day had not. He ushered his apprentices back into the rune forge and wondered what he missed.


	13. Chapter 13: Scholar

Galyan woke sluggishly, vainly trying to swallow the sticky film in his mouth or shift the blankets that buried him. His eyes burned. Every muscle ached. He shivered against the chill and retched as waves of pain crossed his abdomen.

"Come on, lazy," Alte said. "You're going to make me late for Chapter."

"Go without me," Galyan said. "I don't think I can make it today."

"You'll feel better once you've had your bath."

Kerian's confessed infatuation had forced Galyan to reconsider his morning routine. Previously, he would rise early and go over his lecture notes for the day. Kerian would knock on his door and they would walk to the dining hall together to discuss his apprentices' curriculum over an early breakfast. After that, he would attend Chapter before returning to his quarters to collect whatever teaching materials he would need. Now, he was too sensitive about the matter to allow her anywhere near his sleeping quarters. Alte helped him rise and dress, and they went to Chapter together.

Alte thrust a hand under the blankets and fumbled until he found his armpit. Galyan cried out at the touch of icy skin against his flesh. The hand recoiled.

"Andraste's ass, you're burning up! What's _wrong_ with you?"

"A chill I picked up in the rune forge," he lied. "You remember. You sweat your ass off in the forge, then freeze your balls off when you leave."

"None of your apprentices are sick."

"They're young. Help me, Alte. Once I get moving, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure you don't want me to send for Aislin? If it's just a chill, that's outside the Lord Seeker's judgment. Maybe she can heal it."

"There's no need," Galyan was obstinate. "You've had autumn colds before. You know how miserable they are."

He struggled to the edge of the bed and rolled off, landing painfully on the floor. One of the scabs ruptured, soaking the bandages with foul-smelling pus, but he had other needs. His fever made his bladder sensitive to pressure, and he was barely able to position the chamber pot in time.

"I'm no healer," Alte said, "but everything about this is wrong. Even your piss smells bad. Let's go to the infirmary."

"Let's skip Chapter and go to breakfast," the sick man said, trembling violently. Alte shook his head, but he agreed.

Galyan almost collapsed on the stairs to the level where the baths were situated, but he managed to get himself into a tub without passing out. Once he was clean, he did feel better, and he climbed the stairs without relying on Alte for more than a steadying arm. Luckily, Alte seemed no more eager than Galyan to attend Chapter. It had been dull since the day his apprentices started in the rune forge. Their unexpectedly long lunch break that day was due to an emergency Chapter meeting. Rhys had been released from detention, and they met to plan their next steps. At this point, "watch and wait" was still the order of the day, but they still needed to meet to determine it. They had done so without Galyan's presence, as he and his apprentices had taken their noon meal in the courtyard instead of the dining hall and had missed the whole thing. More mysteriously, Rhys was gone the very day he was released. If the First Enchanter knew where, he was not telling the rest of them.

Alte did not leave Galyan until he had seen him to his breakfast meeting with Kerian. She sat at their usual table and had placed his usual breakfast in front of his usual place, but he ignored it. He closed his eyes and waited for her to begin speaking.

"Evard barely passed his mathematics examination," she informed him. "Enchanter Gilwyn thinks he'd benefit from repeating the course."

"And you think?" he asked, forcing his voice past dry, cracked lips.

"I think it would be a waste of time," she said. "He knows the material. He just doesn't pay attention to the questions."

"I concur. Steph?"

"She skipped two of her poetry classes this week."

"And?"

"She's doing it for the attention. If you don't crack down on her, it will get worse."

"And if I do crack down on her, she'll get the attention she wants," Galyan said and massaged his aching eyes. "I'll talk to Vanard. Maybe he'll consent to spar with her once a week if she attends all her lessons."

"Is there no way you can do this without involving _him_?"

"Is he bothering you?"

"Not really," Kerian said. "But I can't walk across the courtyard without him saying hello to me in _both_ directions. And when Evard stuck a stick in my hair, he picked it out."

"I'm not going to ask him to stop being nice to you."

"He's only doing it because he wants something."

"And you don't. He seems to accept that."

"But he keeps trying!"

"And you can keep telling him you aren't interested. He's very good to us, Kerian. You miss our trips outside the tower as much as I do. He's promised to take us tomorrow."

"And you agreed?!"

"You don't have to talk to him. I will. Please, Kerian, I'm too tired to argue."

"Can we bring Gabriel?" Kerian asked.

"You're spending more time with him these days," Galyan said wearily. "I don't imagine you find much to talk about."

"They didn't take his mind away from him," Kerian said. "He's teaching me Navarran."

"It's a pity you didn't discover your common interests before. Or perhaps not. You would not have been able to prevent what happened to him. Any news about Janelle?"

"The matron says she can't get her to take a bath."

"That's normal," he said. "She's shy and doesn't like taking off her clothes when other people are watching. She'll get used to it. Senior Danielle should have anticipated it."

"She didn't say it was a problem," Kerian said. "She just wanted to make you aware of it. She says that she's going to try bathing her earlier in the morning, before the other children are awake."

"That may help. Is that all?"

"You don't look very good, ser," she said, her cool facade slipping a little.

"I caught a chill in the courtyard," he said. "I'll be fine. What does Mistress Aislin have to say about your internship?"

"She's pleased. She appreciates not having to go down into the cellars anymore."

"Good, good. Please tell the others to come at our usual times, but tell Janelle to come here instead of the library. I think I'll sit here awhile longer."

He was still sitting there with his chin against his chest when his apprentices joined him for lunch. If Janelle had come while he was sleeping, she said nothing of it. Stephanie picked up his bowl of cold oatmeal, sniffed it, and put it back down with a scowl.

"They really need to stop putting garbage down the drains," she said. "This place smells like a middens heap."

"We're right above the kitchens," Galyan said, blinking the sand out of his eyes.

"That is not reassuring. So what's on the agenda today, wise one? More casting cantrips at wax?"

"It's our turn to make etching agent," Galyan said.

"Again?" Evard complained, plunking his plate down next to Galyan's abandoned bowl and sitting beside him. "We did that three days ago."

"And we'll do it three days from now," Galyan said. "But tomorrow, we have a rest day, and I have something special in mind."

"But you won't tell us what!" Evard said.

"That's right."

"Are you sure you'll be up to it?" Kerian asked, looking pointedly at his untouched oatmeal.

"Nothing could prevent it," he said.

Janelle touched his forehead, made "tut, tut" noises, and sat down on his other side.

"You need hot honey and lemon before you go to bed tonight," she said.

A group of girls walked behind Stephanie and Kerian, whispering loudly about ungainly posture and ugly hair. Stephanie ignored them, but Kerian's shoulders slumped and her cheeks reddened.

"Ignore them," Galyan said. "Let's finish our food and get an early start."

He made it to the rune forge with only a little help from Evard and sank gratefully onto a stool near the mixing benches. The apprentices would not be working with lyrium today, and they were familiar enough with the less lethal hazards - acid, herb, and orichalcum - to allow Galyan to doze. He slept fitfully, dreaming of friends long dead. As soon as he turned to address one of them, they would face him and he would see the decay, but that did not trouble him. At last, he lay down among them on a rickety, half-splintered bed and dragged a rotten wool blanket across them all.

"No apprentices in the forge unattended!" a crisp male voice chastised. He sprang awake and found himself lying on the floor with Master Dunne standing over him. "And sleeping does not count as supervision."

"Forgive me, Master," he stammered. He rolled into a sitting position and gripped his knees for support. "I drifted off."

"Off and onto the floor!" Master Dunne shook his head, then called to the workshop below, "Gabriel! Labroche! Attend!"

Two Tranquil set down their tools, took off their aprons and obeyed, climbing the ladder and unlocking the hatch to the gallery.

"Kindly assist Senior Regalyan to his quarters," he said. "His apprentices are excused for the remainder of the day. And do not think I do not see you, apprentice! That silverite is not for you. Put it back at once!"

Evard shuffled to the bench and put something shiny upon it before stuffing his hands defiantly in his pockets. Galyan had no energy to spare to be angry with him.

When they reached the cold air of the courtyard, he began to shiver uncontrollably, and did not stop even when he was installed in his bed with the blankets drawn up to his chin.

"At least we'll be spared that trip tomorrow," Kerian said from the corridor once the Tranquil had left. "I've seen Val Royeaux before. I was not looking forward to it."

"What trip?" Stephanie asked, crowding Kerian in the doorway. "We're going somewhere? I've never been outside the White Spire in my life! Please don't tell me we aren't going!"

"We're going," Galyan said as firmly as he could. "If I cannot walk, I will borrow a mule."

She squealed something enthusiastic and ran to kiss him on the cheek. He smiled happily at that, and closed his eyes. In the six years she had been his apprentice, she had never once allowed her bare hand to touch his. Her demonstrative affection now gave him hope that she might one day regain a normal life. Or as normal a life as she could have, living in the Circle.

"All I need is a nap," he said.

"Should we wake you for dinner?"Kerian asked dutifully.

"Have Evard ask Senior Alte to do it," he said. "Now let me rest."

He closed his eyes and returned gratefully to his feverish dreams. The next thing he knew, Alte and Evard were shaking him awake.

"You should be in the infirmary," Alte grumbled.

"I can't fall apart. The children are counting on me. Stephanie hasn't been out of the tower since she was four."

"Will her next mentor take her, once you work yourself to death?" he shot back.

"He isn't that sick," Evard said optimistically. "He just needs a little pick-me-up. Come on, let's get some food."

As cold as he had been when he lay down, he was roasting now. Someone had found a brazier somewhere and set it up near the bed, turning his tiny room into an oven, and the woolen blankets made it hotter still. He threw them off and gasped as the cooler air hit his sweat-soaked clothing. Alte and Evard helped him change into fresh robes and assisted him to his place at the senior enchanters' table.

The junior apprentices took turns serving their elders. It was said to teach patience, and to train young mages who might one day be expected to wait upon the pleasure of kings, but Galyan had cherished it for the opportunity to listen to the gossip. Evard was one of those selected tonight, his first time doing it, and he seemed to be enjoying it as much as Galyan had. His spirits lifted as he watched the boy offer stew and bread to the men and women around the table or top up their glasses each time the First Enchanter nodded permission to do so. He had even combed his hair!

Galyan had no appetite, but for once, no one scolded him about it. He was able to swallow wine with some difficulty, but the raw, mineral taste clawed at his throat and made him cough. Once the first few sips were down, the rest of the goblet went more smoothly. Evard offered to refill it, his eyes bright and eager to please, but he held his hand over the cup and shook his head. Warmth radiated from his stomach, pleasant and nauseating by turns, and he did not trust himself with greater excess quite yet. He could still taste the wine in his mouth, bitter and metallic. No matter what Mother Charise believed, the vintners of Val Royeaux did not send their best to the Chantry.

A few moments later, the sick, sour feeling in his belly receded, and for the first time since his beating, he felt stronger. He held out the cup for more.

He was light-headed as he left the dining hall for his daily consultation with Stephanie, but he did not care. He was not very drunk. Even on an empty stomach, it took more than two glasses of wine to render him intoxicated. He felt mellow and almost healthy. Perhaps his illness earlier had been no more than a passing chill, as he claimed. Aislin had never examined him personally, and Kerian was still an apprentice, for all her certainty. They may have been mistaken. He was not in a position to diagnose himself.

Stephanie was already in the small chapel when he arrived. He had chosen this spot initially because the girl seemed most comfortable here. After the abuse she had suffered during her first years in the tower, it was the only place she felt safe. At first, Galyan had asked a lay sister to sit in on their discussions, but eventually, Stephanie herself asked him to stop. She liked the sister well enough, she said, but she felt odd talking about magic in front of her. He considered that his first victory, his first breakthrough. Now, they continued to use the place out of habit. It was open at all hours, but it was usually deserted at night, and quiet. But it was not quiet tonight. Stephanie's excitement about their outing made that impossible.

She peppered him with questions from the moment he knelt beside her. Where were they going? What were they going to see? Who would accompany them? Did the templar really have to go? He answered patiently, smiling at the pleasure their trip was already bringing her.

She would have preferred a to see the fabled Belle Marché, but it was not hard to convince her that postponing that excursion might be for the best. They had no coin to spend at the market, so the thrill of viewing the luxuries of Thedas might wane due to their inability to buy any of them. Fresh air and pretty scenery was not bad consolation.

After a while, the glow in Galyan's belly began to shift. He did not relapse, but he began to have trouble following their conversation. His gaze drifted downward and fell upon a figure on the threshold of womanhood. She was still girlish with her slim hips and slender arms, but there was nothing of childhood in the breasts that swelled the front of her robe.

He jerked away, revolted at the perversion that would make him notice such a thing. She was fifteen years old, his apprentice, and had suffered horrors no child should have to endure. Thank the Maker the darkness of the chapel hid the direction of his gaze, but her ignorance of the offense did not make it less appalling to him. He had to get away..

He excused himself by repeating the adage about retiring early and fled.

His room was as empty as it had been when he left, but those around him were not. Autumn might be well underway in Val Royeaux, but the senior enchanter's corridor resounded with the stirrings of a figurative springtime. He lay on his bed and tried to ignore the moans and thumps of his neighbors' lovemaking, but his frustrated desires gave him no peace. Memories of Elanie and Cassandra, Alte and Liranis - even women and men scarcely recalled - came back to him, tormenting him. He relieved the immediate need as well as he was able, but the chorus of groans and sighs continued, and he lacked the willpower to shut it out. Nor did he possess the energy to repeat the remedy he used moments earlier. His strength waned even if his irrational lust did not, and the feverish lethargy began to return. He needed to go somewhere quiet to sleep off whatever mania had him in its grip.

Elanie's bed was available, if the voices in Alte's room were any indication, but if she returned, he would need to explain why he was there, and he would soil both her linens and her reputation. No one cared who slept with whom in the White Spire, but discretion was expected.

The chapel was another option, but Stephanie often lingered to pray. Apart from the discomfort of encountering her so soon after experiencing such inappropriate thoughts regarding her, he had told her he was going to sleep. She probably did not expect complete honesty from him any more than he expected it from her, but he did not want to be so blatant about his lies.

Aislin would be only too happy to let him bunk up in the infirmary, but she would be less sanguine about letting him leave in the morning. If he walked through those doors, he would not be leaving until his health stabilized. One way or another.

That left the library. Erenia would not be there. From the noises coming from her quarters, her tumultuous relationship with the First Enchanter was in recess at the moment, and she was entertaining someone else he was positive he did not want to see naked. Erenia's absence meant that Adelais would be present, but he had nothing to fear from her any longer, even if her vacant gaze rent his heart. It would not be the first time he had slept face-down at a table among the shelves.

The library was blissfully empty. The impending rest day meant that no research projects would be due, so most mages seemed to be taking the opportunity to socialize instead of work. The only eyes that followed his progress through the aisles were Adelais's, and she would remain indifferent to his presence as long as he did not attempt to mutilate a book. He chose one at random and sat down to read it.

"Fertility Practices throughout Thedas," he read. He put the book back hastily and selected another. The next tome had unsettling illustrations. He abandoned that one on the table and moved to another part of the library. By luck, the first scroll he pulled off the rack pertained to a treatise on spirit summoning. He seated himself at the nearest table and began to read, hoping that ponderings of whichever predecessor he had selected would bore him to sleep. It looked promising. The scroll had been penned by Rhys, apparently as part of his dissertation. The man had always been an academic, preferring the company of his books to that of apprentices. Galyan could not imagine how one could find satisfaction in such a life, but he had to admit that in the grander scheme, Rhys probably contributed more to the Circle's body of knowledge than he did. Not that he was jealous, of course, even if Rhys was lauded throughout Thedas as _the_ expert spirit medium and he was forgotten.

"I cannot advance your career you if you don't publish," First Enchanter Edmonde had told him.

The old man was undoubtedly right, but research bored him.

_If the subject experiences difficulty accessing the Fade in a conscious state, meditation may prove efficacious,_ he read. _No shit,_ he thought.

_Press gently against the Veil, and enter the welcoming folds of the Beyond…_

He pushed the scroll aside, dizzy and inexplicably roused. Visions floated before his eyes of lovers and trysts, beckoning him to leave his dull pursuits and frolic with them. His body remained seated in the library, but his imagination obeyed, reliving caresses long forgotten. Feather-soft kisses teased his neck, and gentle hands unfastened his robe.

"Senior Regalyan is unwell," Kerian's voice sounded shrilly in his ears. Cold hands seized the front of his robe and drew it tight around his throat. "Help me get him up, Gabriel."

"He already is," said a husky, familiar voice that was decidedly not Gabriel. "Or are you too naive to notice?"

He woke with icy rags plastered to his body. He thrashed, trying to shake them off, but his captors held him. Iron fingers pried his mouth open. He bit down, but caught only his own tongue and cheeks. Blood filled his mouth. He spat, but inhaled instead, and doubled over as coughs racked his body.

"You, Marcus," a female voice commanded, "fetch the First Enchanter and the Lord Seeker at once. The only Spirit Healer in Val Royeaux is dying."

Someone held a cup to his lips. He swallowed, gagging on the blood.

"Drink it, love," a gentle voice said, "there's my good boy. Was he like this when you found him?"

"Not this bad, Senior Aislin," a weepy voice said. "He was able to respond to commands."

"He's sinking fast," the calmer woman said. "Hold it together, girl. It gets worse before it gets better. If it ever does."

He felt another awareness enter his mind. He was unable to resist it. His breathing grew steady, and his mind grew still.

"Good, good," the calm voice said. "Keep him from seizing again. Can you heal him?"

"But the Lord Seeker…"

"The Lord Seeker isn't here yet. Can you? Yes or no."

"I don't know. Has he slipped into the Fade? I don't know how to follow."

"He's in and out. I think he's with us at the moment, but that poppy juice will send him over as soon as it takes effect. If you can't bring his spirit back, he'll be dead before Gabriel returns from his errand. Curse him, why did he have to be so stubborn? He should have known he wouldn't be able to keep those wounds clean."

Black water closed over him. He floated just below the surface, his face submerged, but that did not trouble him. The water was a part of him; he needed no air to survive in it.

Gravel brushed his shoulders and he turned, crawling out onto a grassy bank. Eager hands reached out to him, pulling him to his feet and embracing him. He reached out to his rescuers, wrapping his arms around them and kissing their cheeks and lips. Silently, they welcomed him, draping their arms around his shoulders and leading him up the embankment toward a once-beloved house. Light shone from every window. His friends surrounded him, leading him inside.

They stripped his wet rags from his bones and replaced them with stout flannel garments, then sat him in a place of honor at the farmhouse table, warm, but not too near the fire. They placed good things to eat in front of him and sweet-voiced Aubert brought out his harp. He listened bemused as they passed an earthen jug from hand to hand. He reached out for it, but it passed him by. He rose and moved to a different seat in order to intercept it, but they only laughed and passed it to the next set of hands. He grinned and played along. All that mattered was that his friends were alive again, those who had perished so long ago. Health shone in their faces, and mirth fell from their lips. His first lover, Linette, set a child on his knee. The girl laughed, the soft ringlets of her hair dancing. She had her mother's ebony coloring, but her smile was his.

"You never told me," he said.

His child's mother opened her arms in acceptance, and tousled the girl's midnight-black hair. His daughter threw chubby arms around his neck and pressed her soft cheek to his. He clung to her, letting his joyous tears fall unimpeded. The child pulled away and offered him the jug. The smell of brandy rose from it. He reached for it with both hands and lifted it to his lips.

A bronze, scarred hand closed over the mouth of the vessel, and it was taken away from him. The child was gone, and Cassandra stood before him. Her hair was long again, secured in thong as it had been the first time they met, but her eyes were wiser, and sad. He cried out in protest as she spilled the spirits onto the ground and set the jug aside.

Her face changed, her chin narrowing and her skin growing pale. Kerian stood in front of him now, and she placed a stoneware chalice in his hands.

Light shone from the cup, and images played on the surface of the liquid it held. He stared as his own face swam into focus, shrunken and lined with disease. Weary eyes looked back at him, and his own voice commanded him to drink.

Bitter air filled his lungs and he choked, rolling onto his side and gasping. A warm weight fell across his body. Orange hair filled his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

"Kerian?" a concerned voice asked.

"I'm alright," the woman slumped across him coughed. She rocked back onto her heels and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "He was further in than I thought he would be. I think he's a little disoriented."

"That's the poppy juice," Aislin said, laying a warm, dry palm across his forehead. "He may wake briefly, but if he does, it won't be for long. You did well."

"What am I doing here?" he asked. His voice sounded strange, as if someone else was speaking. "Where's my daughter?"

"What daughter?" Aislin replied, shooing Kerian away and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You don't have any children."

"None that lived. But Linette was pregnant… wasn't she?"

"Fade dreams," Aisling said, patting his hand. "You were dying, and trying to persuade yourself to stay in the Fade. You've always wanted children."

He allowed himself to lay back, blinking back tears.

"I'm sorry, lad. As pleasant as your dream may have been, this is where you belong."

"I… I almost had a family," he said. "If..."

"I'm so sorry!" Kerian blurted.

"Stop this at once, both of you!" Aislin said sternly. "It wasn't his time. If the Maker was that desperate for his company, you wouldn't have been able to bring him back. And Galyan, I'm surprised at you, ungrateful thing. You should be happy to be alive, not sniffling over interrupted visions."

They both mumbled apologies and Aislin rose creakily to her feet.

"I should have given you more poppy juice," she muttered. "Aren't you even pleased what your apprentice did?"

Galyan squinted, trying to see through the sluggishness that was stealing over his mind.

"You summoned a spirit, didn't you?" he asked. "You went into the Fade and you did it!"

"I was afraid, but I knew you'd die if I didn't," she said. "With Senior Rhys gone, Claude is the nearest Spirit Healer, and he's in Montsimmard."

"The nearest that you know," Galyan said sleepily. "Amelia's in Val Chevin. There were more. Jules gone… Starkhaven, I think, probably dead. Denis and Mina… both dead. I'm a shitty mentor."

"Don't you start," Aislin chastised him. "I didn't risk pain and punishment so you could beat yourself up over two apprentices who were doomed before they started."

"Lord Seeker Lambert -"

"Lord Seeker Lambert consented to the healing. You were probably unconscious at the time. How in the name of Andraste did you make it to the library in that condition?"

"No choice…" Remaining awake was becoming more difficult. "Senior corridor was... loud."

"Ah, yes," Aislin said. "That boy of yours must have dosed the wine with orichalcum. I had to give Edmonde a sedative lest he give himself a stroke. Now, sleep."

"I'll kill him…" were the last words he uttered before he obeyed.


End file.
